


The Blue Feather

by Natalie L (nat1228)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, Drama, First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Romance, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nat1228/pseuds/Natalie%20L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blair is raped and left for dead, Jim arrives to breathe new life into the young man's shattered world.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blue Feather

## The Blue Feather

#### by Natalie L

Author's website: <http://www.squidge.org/~nat1228/jagjungle.htm>  
Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans. No profit is being made from the posting of this story.  
  
I would like to thank my alpha reader, "B", and all my wonderful betas (Mary, Lyn, Annie, and Bobbie) for their help and support in making this a better story.  
  
This is *not* a death story; it is a story of recovery, hope, and love. It is also a first-time scenario between Jim and Blair, with Blair a virgin to m/m. For more detailed spoilers, see the notes at the end of the story.  
The segment from "Night Train" was written by Harold Apter for The Sentinel television series, and has been adapted for this story without consent. All copyrights remain the possession of the original holders. Additional thanks go to Becky for the use of her invaluable transcripts.  
  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

Blair Sandburg stood in his underwear in a tiny dressing room at the back of The Blue Feather eyeing his waiter's costume with a skeptical eye. If he hadn't needed the money so badly, and so quickly, he would have looked for a more mundane job. However, if he couldn't come up with the rent money in the next fifteen days, he'd be out on the streets. The Blue Feather was a dive, but it paid handsomely and the tips were said to be outstanding. With a heavy sigh, he resigned himself to public humiliation for the sake of a roof over his head. 

The peacock blue Lycra G-string didn't look large enough to cover his package, but he'd have to make do. Stripping until he stood naked in the tiny enclosure, he stepped into the garment. The narrow ribbon of Lycra that anchored the miniscule triangle of fabric disappeared almost immediately into his butt crack and the string around his hips only emphasized how little he had on. With difficulty, he crammed his scrotum and penis behind the scrap of blue. The spandex fabric fit so tightly that he could see the distinct outline of the organs through the cloth; he might as well have gone out there naked. His only other accoutrements were a collar with a black bow tie, and formal cuffs with gold links for his wrists. 

Stepping out of the dressing room, he was greeted by his new boss. "You look great, kid!" Kyle said, slapping Blair's bare shoulder. "Now just remember, the guests are allowed to touch all they want; this is a touchy-feely kind of joint -- that's why they come here. Just take the drink orders and move on. If you get excited and have trouble keeping it in your pants, come on back here and I'll ice you down. Newbies tend to get hard-ons the first week or two from all the attention; but don't worry, you'll get used to it. Eventually, it won't faze you at all. Now go out there and get 'em!" Giving Blair a slap on the ass, he handed his newest waiter a tray and sent him out into the main room. 

The lighting in the establishment was a garish blue, with lots of neon. A peacock tail motif dominated the room, with feathers adorning every table in place of the more customary bouquet of flowers. The music played at a pounding, deafening volume. 

Blair hesitated in the doorway, acutely aware of his state of undress. Then the thought of sleeping in the streets and eating out of dumpsters propelled him into the room. Hands reached out to touch as he walked by, heading for the section of the club that he'd been assigned to work. He waited several tables and was heading to the bar with the drink orders when a man reached up and grabbed his wrist. 

"Hey, pretty boy. How about taking my drink order?" 

"I'll be right back, sir," Blair said politely, trying to twist free from the grip. "I have to get these orders to the bartender." 

"I thought the help around here was supposed to be friendly," the man said, reaching out to grasp the shiny spandex package. He kneaded the organs with his fingers, as Blair stood frozen with shock. 

Unbidden, Blair felt his cock begin to fill from the unwanted attention. It wasn't long before the head emerged from the top of the triangle of fabric that was no longer large enough to contain the swelling penis. 

"Well, lookie here," the man said, brushing the glans with his thumb. "Mighty nice. How about you and me have a private party in the back room?" 

Blair's voice was strangled as he forced himself to speak. "I'm a waiter, not a whore. I have to let you touch me, but that's as far as it goes." He made a concerted effort and pulled himself away, out of arm's reach. "I'll be back for your drink order after I've delivered this batch." He turned and headed toward the bar. 

As he leaned over the bar to give the bartender the drink order, a handsome, clean-cut man spoke. 

"You don't have to put up with that kind of harassment, even in this dive. I'm a cop. If the guy gives you any more trouble, you come tell me, all right?" 

"All right," Blair answered briskly, anxious to get on with the night. 

"You're new here, aren't you?" At Blair's silent nod, the man continued, "I could tell. You're nervous. Those jackals out there know that; they feed on it. You're good looking, young, and well endowed; these guys will eat you alive, if you're not careful." The man rested a hand on Blair's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze of support. 

"I have a job to do," Blair said, accepting the tray of drinks from the bartender. For some reason he couldn't put a finger on, he trusted this particular stranger. The man's touch had washed away the feeling of filth brought on from his mauling by the other patron. Squaring his shoulders, he gave the man a small grin and turned away to deliver his drinks. 

* * *

Jim Ellison watched the waiter leave. The young man was new to the establishment, and Ellison was concerned for him. The kid was far more beautiful than any man had the right to be; with long, curling dark brown hair that glinted with highlights of red, shocking blue eyes, full and sensual lips, and a package that any man would envy. He'd make good money in tips, if only he survived the experience. There was something a bit too naive and innocent about the kid to strike Jim as the sort who would survive long in a place like this. 

* * *

It was after midnight when Blair returned from a short break to ice down his cock yet again. The customer who was so into touching was nursing the dregs of his latest cocktail and was motioning Blair over for another order. Disgusted with having to put up with the man's suggestive touches and lewd language, Blair braced himself and headed back to the table with a false smile plastered on his face. He stood just out of reach as he poised his pen to jot down the order. 

"C'mere," the man slurred, leaning forward so that his arm could reach to snake around the waiter's waist and drag him forward. He pulled Blair down onto his lap, brushing at the tight nubs of the younger man's nipples as he nibbled a kiss along Blair's jaw. "I pay top dollar for ass like yours," he whispered in Blair's ear. "Just one fuck would cover your expenses for six months." 

Blair struggled against the man's strong hold, finally freeing himself. "Thank you, but as I told you before, I'm not a whore." Blair's words were clipped and polite, but he moved well out of reach before speaking again. "Would you like to order another drink? If not, I have other customers waiting." 

"Bring me another one of these," the man said, holding out the empty glass for the waiter to take. As Blair reached for it, the man grabbed his wrist. "Top dollar," he growled. 

Blair wrenched his hand free and backed away. He hurriedly gathered a few more drink orders before returning to the bar. The cop was still there, head resting in his hands as though he was nursing the mother of all headaches. Blair slipped the drink order to the bartender and turned to the only man who had treated him kindly and with respect. 

"Are you okay, man? Can I get you something for that headache? I'm sure we have something in the back -- aspirin, maybe?" 

The cop looked up, his eyes hooded. "Thanks, but nothing helps." 

Blair perched on a neighboring barstool. "Anything I can do to help?" The man shook his head, then thought better of it, resting his forehead on arms folded across the bar. "What's wrong?" Blair wondered if perhaps the man had had one too many drinks and was already nursing a hangover. 

"What _isn't_ wrong? Everything's wrong," the man said. "The lights are too bright, the music too loud, the drinks are too strong, the place stinks of smoke --" 

"This is a smoke-free establishment," Blair corrected softly. "You couldn't possibly be smelling cigarettes." 

"Well, I _do_ ," the man insisted. "Somebody in here reeks of smoke." 

An idea began to form in the back of Blair's mind. "Do you also have a hyperactive tactile response?" he asked softly. The man lifted his head to give Blair a quizzical look. 

"What the hell?" 

"Extra sensitive touchy-feely?" Blair elaborated. 

"That's none of your damn business! Just who the hell do you think you are?" The cop was sitting up now, looking daggers at the younger man. 

"Look, I'm a grad student in anthropology over at Rainier University," Blair explained quickly, glancing at the tray of drink orders the bartender had just served him. He reached out to lay a hand on the cop's arm. "I've made a study of people like you. I think I could help. Come by my office tomorrow morning, and we'll talk." He gave the man a brief smile of encouragement as he grabbed the tray and went to deliver the drinks. 

* * *

Jim watched the young man go, once again admiring the naked beauty. He had felt like hell just a few minutes ago, but when the waiter had touched his arm, it was as if the pain had flowed out of him like water down a drain. He found himself wishing the young man would come back and talk with him some more. There was an aura about the kid that was far more attractive than simply the raw sexual appeal of bare skin. He wanted, _no_ , he needed, to spend more time with the man. 

* * *

The next morning as Jim was driving to work, his radio squawked to life. //"Body found in an alley behind 251 East Clarmar."// 

Jim picked up the mic and answered quickly. "David one-five-two responding." He jerked the wheel to the left and headed to the familiar address. Five minutes later, he pulled up in the alley behind The Blue Feather nightclub. Jumping out of the truck, he walked over to where a couple of uniformed officers stood over the half-nude body of a young man; face down behind the dumpsters. 

His breath caught in his throat as he spotted a ponytail of chestnut curls. Squatting down next to the body, he noted his initial impressions of the scene. The young man was naked from the waist down, his jeans tossed into a corner behind some large barrels. There was blood and semen streaking his thighs, indicating that he'd been raped. 

One of the street cops approached, holding out a wallet. "Found some ID." 

"Thanks." Jim took the wallet, opening the brown leather to examine the driver's license: Blair Sandburg; age twenty-seven; five-feet, eight-inches; one hundred fifty-five pounds. //Fully clothed and dripping wet, maybe,// Jim thought grimly, comparing the license photo to the body of the young man. He gently turned the corpse over, moaning when he saw the bruised face. "Oh, Chief... who did this to you?" 

Jim cupped the young man's cheek, his eyes clouding with emotion. He had hoped to visit this man at the university later that day. There was something special about him; Jim had felt at ease, comfortable, for the first time since his senses had come back on-line a few months ago. With a start, he noticed a metallic glint from something inside the mouth of his victim. Snapping on a pair of latex gloves, he retrieved a gold coin. Turning it over in his fingers, he pondered its significance before dropping it into an evidence bag and tucking it into a pocket. 

Looking up, Jim saw that the ambulance had arrived to take the body to the morgue. He pulled the sheet back up, covering the young man's nakedness before attempting to stand. A wave of dizziness swept over him and he opened his eyes to a world of blue and black. He was running... four-footed, sleek and dark; muscles churning as he gathered speed. In front of him, a wolf appeared, running toward him. Both leaped at the same moment, and a blinding flash of light knocked Jim onto his ass. 

The young man coughed and sputtered, then gasped in a life-giving lungful of air. 

"Are you all right, Detective Ellison?" One of the uniforms was at his elbow, helping him up. 

Jim rubbed his eyes, pushing back a sudden, pounding headache that nearly blinded him. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he insisted, as the officer continued to hover. He looked around, noting that somehow the body had already been taken. How could that be? He hadn't passed out, had he? "What about the kid?" 

"The paramedics are with him now," the uniform answered. "They're taking him to the hospital." 

"He's alive?" Jim shook off the helping hand and brushed the dirt from his pants. 

The uniform nodded. "Craziest thing. I would have sworn he was dead, but all of a sudden, he starts to breathe and you pass out." 

"Which hospital?" Jim asked, turning to head back toward his vehicle. 

"County General, I think," the officer responded. 

"Thanks." Jim climbed into the truck and gunned the engine, taking off after the ambulance. 

* * *

At the hospital, Jim waited impatiently as the doctors worked on the young man. After a couple of hours, a doctor emerged from the trauma room and Jim pounced. 

"How is Sandburg?" 

"Are you a relative?" the doctor asked. 

"No," Jim answered crisply. "I'm the officer of record for his case. Can you tell me how he is?" 

"As you probably know, he was raped," the doctor informed Jim. "There were also five broken ribs and considerable bruising to the chest. From the look of his hands and fingernails, I'd say he put up a good fight, but just couldn't overcome his assailant." 

"Did you take samples?" Jim asked. "Nail scrapings..." 

"We did a full rape kit," said the doctor. "Everything your forensic department will need is in there." 

"Thank you, Doctor..." 

"Clark. Shamus Clark." 

"I'm Detective Ellison, Cascade PD, Major Crimes." He reached out to shake the doctor's hand. "Any chance I can go sit with him until he wakes up?" 

Doctor Clark nodded. "He's going to need someone there when he regains consciousness. He's been through hell. Do you think you could act as a friend first and a detective second?" 

"I need to find out some information," Jim argued. "I need to know what he can tell me about who did this to him." 

"Just remember, Detective, Mr. Sandburg has been traumatized. He's been brutally raped and beaten. He doesn't need interrogation right now." 

Jim nodded. "Understood." 

* * *

Jim sat at the bedside, one hand tangled gently with one of the young man's hands. This felt so right, somehow, being here. He couldn't explain it, but he felt like he had to be there when Blair woke up. Despite the circumstances that brought him to this place, he felt content. He smiled when he saw blue eyes finally open to observe him. "Hey there. How are you feeling?" 

"Oh, God... everything hurts..." Blair groaned. 

Jim reached up to stroke the long curls soothingly. "Yeah, you've been through a lot, kid. My name is Ellison, Jim Ellison. I'm a detective with the Cascade PD." 

"I remember you. Last night at The Blue Feather; you were at the bar." 

"Yup, that was me," Jim confirmed. 

"My name's Blair. Sorry we didn't have time to be properly introduced." 

Jim nodded and smiled. "Nice to finally meet you, Blair. Wish the circumstances could have been better." Blair grunted his agreement and let his eyes drift shut. Jim rubbed the arm nearest to him. "I hate to bother you, but is there anything you can tell me about last night? Anything at all?" 

Blair shook his head, grimacing when even that small movement sent frissons of pain through his battered body, and slowly opened his eyes again. "Not much. I got off work around two in the morning and went out the back to where I parked the Volvo." He shuddered as the nightmare images from the night before flooded his mind. "Some guy jumped me from behind and... and..." Blair's voice trailed off as he closed his eyes against the memories. 

"You have defense wounds on your hands," Jim pointed out. "You tried to fight off your attacker. Did you get a look at his face?" 

"It was dark," Blair murmured. "But I'm pretty sure it was the guy who was harassing me." 

"How do you know that?" 

Blair wrinkled his nose. "He smelled of Whiskey Collins. I was serving him all night. He wouldn't leave me alone. Wanted to pay me 'top dollar' for sex." A shudder of disgust wracked his body. 

"And what did you tell him?" Jim asked softly, gazing into blue eyes filled with fear. 

"I told him..." Blair turned his face away from Jim in shame, his voice lowering to a soft whisper. "I told him I wasn't a whore." 

Jim's response was nearly as quiet. "So, you think he decided to take what you wouldn't let him pay for?" Blair's shoulders raised in a silent shrug, his face still turned toward the far wall. "When I was examining you in the alley, I found a gold coin in your mouth." 

Blair turned his head back and stared at Jim with haunted eyes. "I was dead, wasn't I? When you found me... I was dead." 

Jim nodded, his heart seizing at the memory; the absolute terror he'd felt, thinking he'd lost his only chance with this young man. 

"But then... something happened. You came for me, you brought me back." 

It was Jim's turn to shake his head and shrug his shoulders. "I don't know what happened. One minute I was examining the scene of a brutal murder, the next I was... I was --" 

"Calling me back," Blair finished for the flustered detective. "I felt it... you calling for me. I came running back and there was a flash of light..." 

Jim shook his head again, refusing to acknowledge the vision. "Don't take me there, Blair. I'm not ready to travel that road just yet." A sound behind him made Jim turn sharply. Doctor Clark was standing just inside the door to the room. 

"It's well past visiting hours, Detective," the doctor said. "I've given you time to interview Mr. Sandburg, but he needs his rest. You can come back tomorrow." 

Jim glanced up and out the window, startled to find that it had grown dark. He'd spent the entire day at the hospital, sitting by this young man's side, and hadn't even noticed the time slip away. "I'd like to stay," he argued. "The man who did this to Blair is still out there. If he finds out Blair is still alive, he could come back to finish the job. He needs police protection." 

"I'm sorry, but I have to insist," said Dr. Clark. "If you must stay, you'll have to sit outside in the hall." 

"Please, won't you let him stay until I fall asleep?" Blair's soft voice was tenuous, strained by pain and fear. "I promise to rest." 

The doctor looked at the two men and shook his head. He'd had to deal with patients of violent crimes in the past, and he'd never before seen such a solid bond form between the victim and the investigating detective. There was something between them that was indefinable, subtle, but undeniable. Finally, he nodded. "All right. But once Mr. Sandburg is asleep, you'll leave and come back tomorrow." 

"I'm going to call the station to make sure they set up a guard on this room around the clock," said Jim. "I may have to go home, but I'm not leaving him alone." 

Dr. Clark nodded. "I think we can deal with that," he agreed. "Good night, gentlemen." 

After the doctor had left, Jim turned back to the young man in the bed. "I thought he'd never leave." 

"You'll stay until I fall asleep?" Blair asked, reaching cautiously with one arm to grasp Jim's hand. 

"I'm not leaving you at all," Jim replied softly. "I don't give a damn what the doctor says. You don't have to worry about anything. You're safe so long as I'm here." 

Blair nodded and let his eyes slip closed. It had been a long day, and the battered man found himself exhausted. With the soothing presence of the detective at his side, he found it easy to relax enough to fall asleep. 

* * *

Jim was startled from a light doze by the thrashing and moaning coming from the bed next to him. Standing, he reached out to grab the flailing arms before Blair could hurt himself. The effort caused an unexpected reaction, as Blair began to cry out, fighting harder. 

"No! Let me go, you pervert! I won't! I won't let you touch me! Let go!" 

"Blair!" Jim's voice was clipped and stern, the volume low, but penetrating. "Wake up! You're safe; you're in the hospital. Nobody's going to hurt you here. Shhh, shhh..." 

Blair stopped his struggles and opened his eyes, his head flip-flopping from side to side until he finally woke with a groan of pain and focused on Jim. "Detective Ellison?" 

"It's Jim," Jim corrected softly. "I told you I wouldn't leave. You're all right; you're safe. Were you dreaming about the attack?" At Blair's silent nod, he continued softly. "Can you tell me about it?" 

"I'd rather not," Blair replied, nursing his aching ribs as he drew a shallow breath. 

"We really need your description of the event, as best you remember," Jim probed. "It's vital to the prosecution of the case. Besides," he added, "telling it; getting it out in the open, might help you to sleep better." 

"He came at me from behind," Blair began softly. "He clawed at me, told me that I'd teased him all night and he was going to take what was rightfully his. I fought him, but he pushed me to the ground and kicked me in the ribs. God, I didn't think anything could hurt like that... like this!" Blair had his arms wrapped around his ribcage as Jim reached out to stroke an arm soothingly. Agitated by the pain, his voice trembled as he continued. "He started to take off my pants... I hit him, but he punched me in the face a couple of times until I was only half conscious. I remember his weight on me, and then a pain like nothing I'd ever felt before in my ass. It hurt so much. I tried to cry out, but I couldn't breathe; he was too heavy. When he was finished, I remember he grabbed my hair and lifted my head, then pounded it against the concrete. I don't remember anything after that until..." 

"Until you woke up in the alley?" 

Blair shook his head. "No, until I woke up... I don't know... I think that's when I knew I was dead. I was in this blue jungle, just waiting. I was me, but I wasn't, you know? I was a wolf, and I was waiting for... something... someone... to guide me on my way. And then..." 

Jim concentrated to hear the soft voice, which grew quieter with each new word. "And then...?" 

"You came," said Blair. "Only you were a black jaguar -- a panther. We ran toward each other and then there was this bright flash of light... I really don't remember anything else until I woke up here in the hospital." 

"That's all right," Jim said, nodding his approval. "It's enough. Think you can go back to sleep now?" 

"My chest really hurts; I can barely breathe," said Blair, gasping in shallow breaths. 

Jim reached for the call button. "I'll see to it that you get some pain meds. Those cracked ribs are going to hurt like hell for a while." 

"Thanks." Blair let his head fall back on the pillow. A few minutes later a nurse arrived to administer more pain medication and something to help her patient sleep. She glanced briefly at the detective who sat stubbornly in the chair next to the bed, then turned to leave. 

"Time to sleep now," Jim said softly. "Sweet dreams." 

* * *

The next morning, Jim called for a sketch artist. When the man arrived, Blair patiently answered all of his questions about his attacker, watching as the picture developed under the artist's skillful hands. Jim added his own comments, from his memories of the man that night in the bar. When the sketch was finally finished, Jim nodded his approval as Blair shuddered and turned away from the likeness of the man who had raped him. 

Detective Rafe had accompanied the artist to the hospital, and Jim now turned to his colleague. "Get this sketch distributed as widely as possible and put out an APB on the guy," he instructed. "Why don't you and Brown take a copy to The Blue Feather and ask the owner if he knows the guy? Don't forget to show the picture around to the other staff, too. Somebody's bound to recognize him; might even have a name for us." 

Rafe listened patiently to Ellison's instructions, knowing better than to interrupt, even though he'd already decided that The Blue Feather would be their first stop with the sketch. "Gotcha," he said, taking the drawing and following the artist out of the room. "I'll let you know as soon as we hear something." 

"Even if it's only that they don't know anything," Jim added. 

Rafe shook his head. "Not likely. Sounds like this creep was probably a regular." 

Blair breathed a sigh of relief when the room emptied and closed his eyes against the tears that started to flow down his cheeks. Jim wiped at the wet trails with his thumb. 

"We're going to get this guy," he said softly. "He's not going to be able to hurt you anymore." 

A nurse bustled into the room looking very business-like. Casting a stern glance at Jim, she said, "You're going to have to step outside. It's time for me to give Mr. Sandburg an examination." 

Blair's eyes grew wide and he gave Jim a tight shake of his head. Jim shrugged and stood, causing Blair to blurt, "Can he stay? Please? I-I'd like for him to stay." 

The nurse eyed Jim, who had paused in his exit to await her decision. "It's not procedure..." 

"Please?" Blair continued to beg. "I need someone to help take my mind off the exam." 

The nurse conceded with a nod. "You can stay, if you want." 

Jim moved back over to the bed. "What is it you want me to do?" 

"Just be here. Talk to me." 

"I need you to roll onto your belly, sweetie," the nurse coaxed, getting her hands under Blair's hips and helping to lift him off his back. 

"God... Ow!" Blair protested as the movement tore at his ribs. "Ow-ow-ow-ow! Stop, please!" 

"I have to check the packing in your rectum, dear; see how you're doing," the nurse explained, continuing to lift her complaining patient. 

Jim took Blair's hands and helped to ease him over. "I know it hurts, kid, but you've got to tough it out. You want to get out of here, don't you?" Blair nodded as he gritted his teeth and sucked in a sharp breath to keep from screaming. "Then you need to let the nurse do her business. The sooner you heal up, the sooner you're out of here." 

"I'll need to remove the dressing to check the stitches," the nurse cautioned. "This might be a bit uncomfortable." 

Blair buried his face in his pillows as the nurse removed the dressing from his rectum, probing a finger inside to check the stitches. "Ah! Ooooooh..." he groaned. "Talk to me, Jim. Please..." 

"We've got our best guys working your case," Jim began. "It won't be long before they identify the man who did this." 

"I hope they put him away for good!" Blair said through a clenched jaw. "If there's such a thing as karma, maybe he'll get raped and beat up in prison." 

"It'd serve him right," Jim agreed. "Meanwhile, we're going to see that you get better and get back to whatever it is that you do. What _is_ it you do again?" 

"I'm a grad student, working on my doctorate in anthropology," Blair answered. "Wanted to talk to you... Oh! Ah! God, that hurts!" 

"I'm just about done here," the nurse soothed, going back to replacing the fresh dressing. 

"And what was it you wanted to talk to me about?" asked Jim. 

"You were telling me how your senses were bothering you," Blair explained. "I think I might be able to help." 

"You already _have_ ," said Jim. "While I've been here with you, I haven't had any problems. Everything's under control." 

"Really?" Blair gasped as the nurse turned him over onto his back and began fiddling with the catheter. "Do you have to do that?" 

The nurse looked up from her work. "I need to change the collection bag," she said, continuing with efficient movements. 

With one touch of a finger to Blair's jaw, Jim turned the young man's head away from the nurse and looked him straight in the eye. "Yes, really. It's one of the reasons I've chosen to stay. I need to find out _why_. I need to control my senses, not let them control me; and this is the only place I've been able to do that." 

"Huh." Blair studied his new companion, his curiosity overcoming his discomfort with the exam. "I'd like to get into it more, but what I'd really like to do is get you into my office at the university." 

"Why's that?" 

"That's where I keep all my materials," Blair explained. "It would be a lot easier to explain things to you if I had the visual aids to go with my little talk." 

"Sounds like you've done some teaching, Professor," Jim teased. "Can't you just give me the Cliff Notes version?" 

"I'm not a professor, just a T.A.," Blair corrected. "Well, um..." He glanced up at the nurse. 

"Everything looks fine," she reported. "The doctor will be in later this afternoon to see you." With that, she turned, leaving the two men to their privacy once more. 

"I've made a study of people with enhanced senses," Blair began, once the door had closed. "I've got hundreds of case studies where there are one or two senses heightened beyond normal. You know, like the folks whose smell is so sensitive that they can tell the individual ingredients in perfumes, or the ones whose taste is so developed that they test coffee for the big companies." 

"Yeah, so?" Jim asked, quirking an eyebrow at the anthropology student. 

"Well, there's evidence that in our past, there were people that had all _five_ senses enhanced," Blair explained. "They were usually the tribal scouts; they'd track game, predict the weather based on sensing barometric pressure changes, watch the neighboring tribes, stuff like that. They were called 'sentinels'." 

Jim continued to raise his eyebrow as he watched the young man. "And this pertains to me... how?" 

"I think _you're_ a sentinel!" Blair crowed, pleased to finally be able to voice his suspicions. "I've never met anyone with all five senses enhanced, but if what you told me at the bar is true..." 

"Oh, it's true, all right," said Jim, frowning. "But I don't want to know what I am, I want to know how to get rid of the problem." 

Blair shook his head. "You can't get rid of it," he explained. "For whatever reason, your senses came on-line, and now you're going to have to learn to deal with them." 

"I don't want to _deal_ ," Jim repeated. "I want them gone!" 

"But think of the uses!" Blair began to get animated, waving his arms until his cracked ribs caused him to suddenly cease the movements with a groan of pain. "I gotta stop doing that," he hissed. "Anyway, you're a detective... consider the fact that your senses would make you a walking crime lab. You can see better than others, hear better, smell, taste, touch better. You could use your senses to analyze evidence right there in the field." 

"And how do I do that?" 

Blair shrugged, instantly regretting even that small motion. "When I get out of here, we should do some tests. I'm sure we could find a way to help you control and use your senses." 

"All well and good," Jim agreed, "but first we have to catch the perp who nailed you. _Then_ , maybe, I can take some time to play your games with you." 

"They aren't games, man. They'll help; I promise." 

"Mm-hm." Jim nodded, his acceptance skeptical at best. 

* * *

Later that afternoon, Rafe stuck his head into Blair's room. Jim gave a quick glance to the sleeping patient before getting up to join the detective out in the hall. 

"We hit pay dirt at the club," Rafe announced. "The manager knew the guy; said he comes in three to four nights a week and tries to solicit the waiters... just the young men." 

"Did you get a name?" asked Jim, his face lighting up at the news. 

"Robert DeForo; a real sleaze. He's got a rap sheet the length of your arm for drug possession and solicitation. There was even a charge of rape, but it was dropped when the victim refused to testify." Rafe's face twisted with disgust. 

"Address?" 

"Ahead of you there," Rafe said with a smile. "We've got him in custody. Captain Banks thought you'd like to be the one to interview him." 

"He thought right," Jim confirmed. "Only..." 

"What?" Rafe's eyes widened in surprise at the hesitation. 

"Well, I don't want to walk out on Blair, and he's sleeping now," explained Jim. "I promised him I wouldn't leave." 

"While the perp was still running free," Rafe amended. "But we've got him, now. There's no danger to Sandburg anymore." 

"Still... I don't want him waking up alone and wondering what the hell happened," Jim explained. 

Rafe nodded. "How about I stay until he wakes up; I can explain the situation to him." 

Jim reached out to pat Rafe's shoulder as he smiled. "Great! Thanks. The kid's been pretty nervous. After all, this bastard raped him; he's all shaken up." 

"I understand," said Rafe. "Kid gloves, and all that." 

Jim nodded and smiled grimly, acknowledging his thanks once more as he headed for the elevator. 

* * *

Jim leaned across the table in the interrogation room, his arms braced as he loomed over their suspect. Joel Taggert lounged against the one-way mirror, arms crossed, as he watched the proceedings. 

"Let's get this started," Jim growled. "State your name for the record, please." 

"Robert DeForo." 

"Have you been informed of your rights, Mr. DeForo?" Jim had to swallow the bile that rose as he forced himself to be coldly polite to this monster. 

"Yeah." DeForo's answer was clipped and sullen. 

"And do you wish to have an attorney present?" Jim waited until DeForo shook his head. "You're willing to talk to us now, knowing that what you say will be recorded?" 

"I haven't got anything to hide," said DeForo, looking defiantly into Jim's steely gaze. 

"All right, then... Where were you on the evening of May 11, this past Wednesday?" Jim asked, returning the stare with hard, blue eyes. 

DeForo shrugged with relaxed nonchalance. "At The Blue Feather, having some drinks and enjoying the show." 

"Don't you mean, pawing the waiters?" Jim hissed through clenched teeth. "You like the young men, don't you?" 

"So what if I do?" DeForo replied with a shrug. "That's why they're there, wearing those skimpy costumes. The management encourages the customers to 'enjoy' themselves, so I was enjoying." 

"Have you ever asked one of the waiters for sex?" 

"Those boys are in there for one reason: they're broke and need big money fast. Why else would they parade around practically naked in a joint that allows customers to feel them up?" asked DeForo. "Sure, I've asked a few, and some have taken me up on the offer. I pay good money, and it's hard to refuse." 

Jim's eyes lit up with cold fire. "That's considered solicitation. I could lock you up for that, you know; but I'm not interested in arresting you for some petty misdemeanor." Jim leaned further across the table until his face was just inches from DeForo. "Did you solicit your waiter on Wednesday night?" 

DeForo shrugged. "Yeah, but he turned me down." 

"And how did that make you feel? Angry?" Jim hissed. 

"Nah. Disappointed, maybe. I tried a couple times, but couldn't interest the kid," DeForo said. "He was new; I could tell he was nervous; didn't like the groping." 

Jim's eyes narrowed. "But you groped anyway, didn't you?" 

"That's why I go to the Feather. That's why a lot of guys go there." DeForo leaned back in his chair, resting his hands in his lap. 

Jim backed away, but didn't waver in his questioning. "And when did you leave?" 

DeForo shrugged. "I stayed till closing, around two in the morning." 

"And where did you go from there?" 

"Called a cab and went straight home." DeForo gave Jim a defiant look that challenged the detective to prove he was lying. 

"Can anyone corroborate your story? Anyone see you come home?" asked Jim. 

"I live alone," DeForo replied, retaining his cool, unflappable exterior. 

Jim stood and circled the table, coming around to the side where DeForo sat. Bracing one hand against the table and the other against the back of DeForo's chair, he leaned down to face his suspect. "I think you followed the waiter out of the club that night with the intention of taking for free what you couldn't buy." He moved in even closer, until DeForo could feel the warmth of Jim's breath on his cheek. "I think you attacked that young man -- raped him, then beat him to death." 

"You can't prove anything," DeForo said, his voice quaking slightly. 

"Oh, I can't?" Jim bent to retrieve the Styrofoam coffee cup that DeForo had been using from the trash where their suspect had tossed it. Walking over to Taggert, Jim handed him the container. "Get this down to Trace, would you? I'm sure there's some useable DNA and fingerprints here for them to work with." 

"Sure thing." Joel took the cup and turned to leave the room. Stopping in the doorway, he turned back to DeForo. "Something Ellison didn't tell you... your victim survived." 

"But... but... he was dead!" DeForo's eyes widened as he realized what he'd just said. His face went deathly pale at Ellison's chuckle. 

//Gotcha!// Jim smiled grimly in satisfaction and turned to follow Taggert out of the interrogation room, locking the door behind him. "He's all yours," Jim said to the uniform standing guard in the hall. Giving his attention back to Joel, he slapped the detective on the back before draping an arm around the man's shoulders. "Good work in there." 

"Thanks. Happy to be of service." Joel grinned and held up the coffee cup. "Got to get this down to Trace; you going back to the hospital?" 

"Yeah. I'd like to be the first to tell Blair the good news." Jim smiled with satisfaction. He loved it when a plan came together. 

* * *

Blair opened his eyes and turned his head toward the empty chair next to the bed. Aching ribs notwithstanding, he bolted upright, fear sparkling in his eyes. "Jim? Hey, man, where are you?" 

Rafe stepped into the room from the hallway where he'd been chatting with the uniform charged with guarding the door. "He had to go down to the station." Walking over to the bed, he reached out a soothing hand to press Blair back against the pillows. "We caught the guy who did this to you, and he wanted to conduct the interview himself. He'll be back as soon as he's finished." 

"You found him?" Blair lay back, his tension draining. "Thank God." 

"Now all you have to worry about is getting better," the detective said, giving Blair a warm smile of encouragement. 

Blair closed his eyes with a muttered, "I wish," as Rafe settled in the chair that Jim usually occupied. 

The detective puzzled silently over the enigmatic statement, figuring it was none of his business, and picked up a magazine to read while he waited for Ellison's return. 

* * *

Jim hurried down the hospital corridor toward Blair's room, nodding at the guard outside the door as he pushed his way inside. Rafe put down his magazine and looked up. 

"How did it go?" 

"Great." Jim's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. "Got him to confess; and with the DNA evidence, I'd say this is an open-and-shut case." 

Rafe nodded. "That's good to hear. The kid woke up while you were gone, but I explained the situation and he went back to sleep." 

"Okay, thanks, Rafe. I'll take over now. You can tell the guard he's off duty," said Jim. 

"Congratulations." Rafe grinned at his fellow detective as he rose to leave. "I know Sandburg will be happy to hear the news." 

As the door closed softly behind the departing detective, Blair opened his eyes. "So, you got him, huh?" 

"I thought you were asleep," Jim exclaimed, walking over to the bed and clasping a cool hand. 

"Just resting. You said he confessed?" 

Jim shrugged. "Not in so many words, but he tripped himself up and said something that definitely put him at the scene. We got a DNA sample to compare to the samples we recovered from you. Conviction is a slam-dunk on this one. You probably won't even be called to testify." 

Blair closed his eyes briefly with a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. I wasn't looking forward to having to face him from the witness stand. What happens now?" 

"He'll stay in prison until his trial, which probably won't happen for several months," Jim explained. "The charges of rape and attempted murder will be enough to keep him locked up. Like I said, the conviction at trial is a done deal, so you're not going to have to worry about this guy ever again." 

"Thanks, Jim." Blair squeezed the hand holding his. "Are you going to be staying... here with me, I mean?" 

Jim thought about it. In the brief few days he'd known Blair, he'd come to think of the young man as indispensable. He couldn't put his finger on quite why, except that he felt at peace when they were together, in a way he hadn't felt for many years. On the other hand, they barely knew each other, and Jim had a job to do. "I'd really like to stay, but there are other bad guys out there and I have several open cases I should be working on." 

"Oh, I see." Blair's voice held a world of disappointment in those few words. "Will you come visit me, at least?" 

"Surely you'd rather have visits from your friends and family, rather than some dry, old detective?" Jim asked with the hint of a smile. 

Blair's mouth turned down in a frown. "I don't have any family... no one nearby, at least; and I'm not really close with very many people at the university. Except for the classes I should be teaching, I doubt anyone really misses me much." 

"I don't believe that," Jim countered. "You strike me as the kind of guy who makes a lot of friends." 

"A lot of acquaintances," Blair corrected, "not friends." 

"Well... I suppose I could come back this evening," said Jim. "Would that be all right?" 

Blair's face brightened. "That would be great!" 

"Okay. Well, I'd better get going," said Jim, feeling a strong sense of awkwardness. He turned and walked toward the door, then looked back over his shoulder at the young man in the bed. "I'll see you this evening." 

"Good-bye!" Blair called out to the retreating detective. When the door closed and left him alone, Blair hung his head. He suddenly felt lonely and bereft. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. 

* * *

Later that day, when Jim arrived for his visit, he found Blair out of bed, dressed in a thin robe and clinging heavily to his IV pole for support. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Jim asked, rushing in to lend a supporting arm. 

Blair looked up and smiled at the detective. "The doctor said I needed to get out of bed and start walking the corridors if I expected to be released anytime soon." He began shuffling toward the door, obviously in some discomfort, but doggedly determined. "He said that down to the end of the hall and back would be enough for today, but that I should build up to at least three or four round trips." 

As they made their way slowly down the hall, Jim asked, "And what else did the doctor tell you? Did he say how much longer until you're released?" 

"At least a couple more days," Blair replied. "He wants me to see a shrink before I'm released and set up a schedule for counseling." 

"That's a good idea," Jim agreed, nodding. "What you went through was a traumatic violation and it takes a long time to recover." 

Blair nodded his head and smiled. "Yeah, I know. I've been in and out of therapists' offices since I was in Pampers." 

Jim's eyebrows rose. "You don't strike me as the neurotic type." 

"It was Mom," said Blair with a shrug. "We had a rather nomadic lifestyle when I was little. I was a bright kid and got into trouble a lot. Mom thought therapy would help." 

"Did it?" 

Blair laughed. "What helped was taking college classes when I was sixteen. I had my Bachelor's degree by the time I was nineteen. Getting out and living on my own, getting into a stable situation -- that's what really made the difference." 

Jim steered Blair back into his room and helped him up onto the bed. "I'm glad to hear that you're doing so well and can go home soon." 

"Yeah, me too. I've gotta get back and find some extra work I can do, or I'll lose my apartment in just over a week." Blair settled in, easing himself down onto his pillows. 

"Whoa..." said Jim, pausing as he pulled the blanket up. "I don't think you're in any shape to be taking on an additional job right now. I'm no doctor, but with five cracked ribs and stitches in your ass, you'll be lucky to make it to your regular day job." 

"I've got to do something," Blair insisted, "or I'll be out on the street." 

"Not going to happen, Chief," Jim replied. "Don't you worry about that now." 

The night nurse came in, interrupting their conversation. "I see you were up and about," she said to Blair. "Doctor Clark left orders that once you were able to get up on your own, the catheter could be removed. How does that sound?" 

Blair grinned sheepishly. "Sounds good to me." 

The nurse pulled down the blanket and pushed up Blair's gown, exposing his penis and the tubing that had been secured to his thigh. "Raise your butt up just a little for me," she ordered. When Blair complied, she slipped a moisture barrier sheet beneath his hips. "That's good, you can lower yourself," she said, patting Blair's thigh. "When the catheter comes out, there's usually a little leakage. That sheet will help protect the bed." She busied herself with removing the collection bag from the side of the bed where it had hung, laying it on the bed between Blair's legs. Using a syringe, she deflated the balloon that held the catheter in place. "This is it," the nurse continued, lightly grasping Blair's penis in one hand and the catheter line in the other. "It might hurt a bit," she warned. 

Blair grasped Jim's hand and turned his attention away from the nurse. "Talk to me, Jim." 

"What about?" Jim asked, flustered by the request. 

"Anything. Tell me about your day at the off...issssss," Blair hissed as the catheter was slowly removed. 

"All done," the nurse announced, pulling the protective sheet from beneath Blair's hips and wrapping the collection bag and catheter in it. She pulled Blair's gown back down and covered him with the blanket. "From now on, you'll have to use the bathroom just like the rest of us." 

Blair smiled weakly, the discomfort from the catheter removal still making his privates tingle. "Thanks, I appreciate it." 

The nurse smiled and walked out, leaving the two men alone once more. 

"So, where were we when we were so rudely interrupted?" asked Jim, grinning. 

"Talking about my upcoming homelessness if I can't get out and find work," Blair reminded him. 

"You can work for me," Jim suggested, the spur of the moment idea taking the detective by surprise. "You said you'd help me control my senses. I'll pay you for it." 

Blair shook his head. "You don't understand," he said. "I need to study you as a subject for my doctoral thesis. I'll help you... I'm sure I can do that... but you don't have to pay me." 

"I want to," Jim insisted. 

"Can we argue about this later?" asked Blair. "It's been a long day." 

"Yeah, it has, hasn't it?" Jim sighed. "I'll come visit again tomorrow afternoon. How does that sound?" 

"Bring a pizza?" Blair suggested. "Hospital food stinks." 

"It's a deal." Jim grinned and patted Blair's shoulder as he turned to leave. "Don't give the nurses too much trouble." 

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. Sandburg! Come on in and sit down; make yourself comfortable." 

Blair looked around the office of the hospital's resident psychologist, nodding in approval at the peaceful scenes of meadows and rural life in the paintings on the walls, and the little touches of nostalgia tastefully placed on her desk and tables. "Nice place." 

"Thank you. Believe it or not, I grew up on a farm," she said. Standing, she held out her hand in greeting. "I'm Marcia Hellner." 

"Blair Sandburg," Blair reciprocated, shaking the therapist's hand. 

"I know you probably don't want to be here," Marcia said, settling back in her chair. "Chances are your doctor ordered the session as a condition of your release." 

"That pretty much sums it up," Blair agreed. 

Marcia shrugged. "Well, it doesn't have to be a painful experience," she explained. "We'll just talk, see where the conversation takes us." 

"So, you grew up on a farm?" Blair started, trying to keep the topic casual. "When I was a kid, we moved around a lot. My mom was one of the original hippies and we lived a bit of a nomadic lifestyle. She would leave me with relatives and friends often so that she could go off and explore some new spiritual enlightenment." 

"It must have been hard making friends that way," Marcia commented. "It's difficult for children, especially once they become school age, to be uprooted and abandoned so often." 

"I got used to it," Blair said, shrugging off the therapist's concerns. "I got really good at blending in, doing what I had to do in order to fit in with whatever group we were living with at the time. It wasn't too hard making friends, but it was harder keeping them." 

"Because you moved so much?" 

Blair nodded. 

"Is that why you have more acquaintances than friends now?" 

The therapist's probing question took Blair by surprise. "Have you been talking with Detective Ellison?" 

"Who?" 

"Oh, never mind." Blair sighed. "Yeah, I suppose so. It just never paid to get too close to anyone. If I did, I always ended up getting hurt when we had to move on." 

"And how did that affect your personal life?" asked Marcia. "Have you had many intimate relationships?" 

Blair frowned, not liking the personal turn of the conversation. "I've had some one-nighters and a couple of relationships that have gone beyond a few dates." 

"Always with women?" 

"Um, yeah, pretty much," Blair admitted, his heart rate elevating as he saw the therapist steering the conversation toward the rape. 

"Ever had an interest in men?" 

"There have been a few that caught my eye, but I never got into a sexual relationship with any of them." 

"Not even to blow off a little steam? Maybe just a hand-job?" Marcia queried. 

"Once or twice... maybe," Blair said slowly, blushing with embarrassment. "But it never meant anything. Usually, that would be the last I'd see of the guy." 

"So there was no emotional involvement in your relationships with men. Did you ever wish there was?" 

An image of Jim Ellison flared in Blair's mind and he tried to push it back. It wasn't as if he hadn't fantasized about being with the hunk of a detective, but since the rape, he hadn't been interested in getting into a relationship that might eventually lead to that kind of intimacy. "Uh, no... not before the... the..." 

"The rape?" Marcia folded her hands and leaned forward toward Blair, her face a mask of sympathy and understanding. Blair nodded. "But you've had those feelings _since_?" 

Blair swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. "Um... no; well, yes... but... no. No." 

Marcia smiled softly. "It's okay, Blair. It's okay to admit to having those feelings, even if you're not ready to act on them yet." 

"I'm not sure I'll ever be ready to act on them," Blair admitted. 

"What you went through was a terrible violation -- not only of your body, but of your mind as well. I'm sure you've heard this before, but you really must understand it -- in your heart: rape is not about sex, it's about power and the abuse of power." Marcia came out from behind her desk and pulled up a chair alongside Blair's. Reaching out, she covered one of his hands with hers. "A sexual relationship is about loving and giving, not taking... not power. It's a gift you bestow because you want to. Once you understand the difference here --" She placed the flat of her palm against Blair's chest, over his heart. "Once you believe in the difference... you'll be ready." 

Blair shuddered as he drew in a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I know that in my head, I'm just not sure how long it's going to take me to believe it." 

"You're still healing physically," Marcia unnecessarily reminded him. "Every movement, every ache, is a reminder of what that man did to you against your will. Once you're better, then your spirit will have a chance to heal as well. It's going to take time and there's nothing anyone can do to rush it along. I wouldn't even recommend trying. Just let this play out in its own time. It will take however long it takes." 

"And what if I'm never ready?" 

"Do you love him?" Marcia asked softly. 

Blair pursed his lips in thought. "I barely know him," he admitted. "But I think the potential is there, yeah." 

"Does he love you in return?" 

The question made Blair frown. "I haven't got the slightest notion... probably not. I mean, I haven't even said anything to him about how I feel. I wasn't even sure _how_ I felt, until now." 

"In that case, the question of recovery, of if-and-when you'll be ready, is really moot," said Marcia gently. "Give yourself time to explore your feelings and find out his. I think, if you let this thing unfold in its own time, that your insecurities will take care of themselves." She stood and smiled at her patient. "I think that's enough for now. I also think it would be a really good idea if we set up a visitation schedule. I would suggest twice a week at first. How do Mondays and Thursdays sound? Around 9:00 a.m.?" 

"Sure." Blair stood and shook Marcia's hand. "Thanks." 

"You're welcome, Blair. And, please, feel free to call me _anytime_." Marcia reached over to a silver holder on her desk and extracted a card that she handed to her patient. "I'm always available to my patients. In the early stages of recovery, you may find you need that little extra from time to time." 

Blair took the business card and tucked it in his wallet after glancing at it briefly. "Thanks again." 

"You take care now. I'll see you again starting Monday." 

Blair walked out of the therapist's office and took the elevator back up to his floor. Jim was waiting for him in his room. 

"How'd it go with the shrink?" 

"Not as bad as I thought," said Blair, doffing his robe and climbing back into bed. "We've got a schedule set up; twice a week for now." 

"You're looking good. How are you feeling?" Jim walked over to stand next to the bed. His instinct was to gather this man into his arms and offer his protection to him for the rest of their lives. //Now where did _that_ come from?// he asked himself. Sure, he'd been attracted to the young man ever since the first night he'd set eyes on him at The Blue Feather, but that had been purely physical. This was something more... 

"Considering everything, not too bad," Blair responded. "The doctor says he's going to sign my release papers tomorrow morning." 

"So soon?" Jim was slightly taken aback by the pronouncement. "It's only been three days!" 

Blair shrugged. "I'm doing okay. I can take care of myself. There's no reason for me to be taking up valuable hospital space." 

"I suppose," Jim growled. "But it doesn't seem right." 

"I don't have insurance, either," said Blair. "I can't afford to stay here more than I absolutely have to. I'm already scrambling for money to pay rent." 

"No more working at The Blue Feather," Jim chided. "I don't care how much you need the money." 

"Oh, don't worry about that!" Blair responded. "Even if my body wasn't splattered with patriotic red, white, and blue blotches, I wouldn't take my clothes off for anybody. I'm done with the peep show scene." 

"Have you decided what it is you _are_ going to do?" 

Blair shrugged. "Go back to Rainier, to my teaching job. Maybe I can find some extra work on campus that wouldn't be too taxing." 

"Sounds like a plan," Jim agreed. Blair watched as an odd look came over Jim's face and he reached in his pocket to pull out his pager. "Vibrate mode," said the detective with a sheepish grin. 

"You can use my phone," said Blair, cocking his head in the direction of the small nightstand. 

Jim picked up the receiver and dialed out. The conversation was brief from Jim's end. When he hung up he turned to Blair with an apologetic look. "I'm going to have to cut our visit short," he explained. "A new lead came in on a big case of mine." 

"On a Saturday?" Blair's voice was incredulous. 

Jim shrugged. "Crime doesn't acknowledge weekends, unfortunately." 

"You _will_ be back tomorrow morning when I'm released, won't you?" Blair implored. "I'm going to need a ride home." 

"I'll be here, Chief," said Jim, ruffling the mane of curls. "You can count on it." 

* * *

"Not dressed yet?" Jim asked the next day as he strode into Blair's room. "I thought you'd be hot to get out of here." 

"I am," Blair agreed. "I just never realized how hard it would be to get my clothes on." 

"Yeah, I know what you mean," said Jim, coming over to help Blair into his shirt. "I've cracked a rib or two in my day, too. Once you stiffen up, it's nearly impossible to get dressed by yourself." 

"My ass hurts, too," Blair complained. "And I can't bend over to put on my pants. A lot of good I'm going to be once I'm out on my own." 

Jim picked the jeans up off the bed and held them out for Blair to step into. "You'll manage. It's surprising what you can do when you know that you have to." 

"I suppose..." said Blair skeptically. 

"Ready to go?" 

"I still have to wait for Dr. Clark. He said he'd have some papers for me to sign and some last minute instructions," Blair replied. "And I still need help getting my shoes on." 

"So when do you start back to work at the university?" 

Blair looked up as Jim slipped his sneakers on his feet and tied the laces. "I called the Dean of Humanities and explained what happened. He told me to take another week off and then let him know how I'm doing." 

"Sounds like good advice to me," said Jim. 

"Yeah," Blair growled. "Except that so long as I'm not working, I'm not bringing in any money, either." 

"Don't worry about the money," Jim soothed. "Everything will work out." 

"Easy for you to say," groused Blair. "You've got a nice place to go home to." 

"And you don't? I thought you said you had an apartment," said Jim. 

"In a drafty warehouse," Blair elaborated. "But it's cheap. I mean, where else could you get ten thousand square feet for eight-fifty a month?" 

Jim chuckled. "And what do you need with ten thousand square feet of space?" 

Blair shrugged, then grimaced as the pain of his cracked ribs radiated up his body. "You'd be surprised." 

"There's nothing much about you that would surprise me," Jim chuckled. 

Dr. Clark stepped into the room with a clipboard and eyed the two bantering men. "So, I take it this means you're ready to go home?" 

"More than ready!" said Blair, grinning. "Where do I sign?" 

"In a minute," the doctor replied. "First, I have some instructions for you." 

"Okay. Shoot." Blair studied the doctor's face and grew sober at what he saw reflected there. 

"First of all, do you have any family or a friend nearby that would be willing to move in with you for a short while?" 

Blair shook his head. "I'm pretty much alone," he admitted. "Why?" 

"You're going to have some trouble getting around, getting dressed, et cetera, for a while, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to be living alone," Dr. Clark responded. 

"I don't know what to say." Blair gave his shoulders a very slight shrug. "I don't have anyone." 

"You have me," Jim piped in. "You could stay at my place until you can get around on your own." 

"Oh, Jim... no, I couldn't do that! We barely know each other!" Blair protested. 

"Look, Junior --" Jim pinned the younger man with a cold stare. "I have an extra bedroom and plenty of room in my loft. You'll be on your own most of the day while I'm at work, but you'd have me around in the morning and at night to help you with things." 

"It would be ideal," Dr. Clark agreed. 

"I don't know..." said Blair, frowning. "I hate to impose on you like that." 

"You wouldn't be imposing," Jim insisted. "Think of it as a chance to begin your observations of me. You could help me with... well, you know." Jim's voice quieted as he glanced briefly at the doctor before turning back to Blair. 

"If you're sure. I don't want to be a bother." 

"I'm sure. That's settled." Jim turned back to the doctor. "What else do you need for him to do in order for us to get out of here?" 

Dr. Clark fished in the large pockets of his lab coat and brought out a tube of ointment. "You'll need to apply this to the rectal wall twice a day," he instructed. "It will keep you lubricated and assist in the healing of the tissues. I want you to continue to apply it until the stitches have all dissolved." 

Blair reluctantly reached for the ointment, wrinkling his nose as he thought about it. "How...?" 

"It's probably easiest with you sitting on the toilet," the doctor explained. "Just coat your index finger and insert it into your anus up to about the second knuckle. Be sure to spread the ointment on all the surfaces." 

"Sure. Okay," Blair agreed quietly. 

"If you need more, just call my office and I'll have the prescription phoned in to your preferred pharmacy," said Clark. He handed Blair two slips of paper. "This is a prescription for a stool softener. I highly recommend you fill it; take one pill twice a day with a meal. There's also one there for pain medication. Take as needed, but use sparingly. I'd also like to set up an appointment for you to come see me in two weeks. At that time, I'll check your progress and determine if you're ready for a full medical release." 

Blair just nodded, suddenly overwhelmed with the prospect of getting out of the hospital and dealing with his injuries on his own. But he wasn't alone, was he? He'd have Jim with him, at least for the first week or two. That thought calmed Blair's nerves and he smiled. 

"Just sign here and here," Clark indicated the pages on the release forms. "And you're a free man. You've seen Ms. Hellner?" 

"Yeah," said Blair. "We've got a schedule for Monday and Thursday mornings at nine." 

"Why don't you come see me in two weeks after your Monday appointment?" the doctor suggested. 

"Okay." 

"I'll see to it that he makes it," Jim said. 

"Very good. Well, I guess that about covers it," said Clark. "You take care, Blair. If you have any problems, give me a call." 

"Thanks." Blair watched as the doctor left and then turned to look at Jim. 

"You ready to go?" 

Blair nodded. 

"All right, then. How about we stop off at your place and pick up some clothes and stuff that you'll need for your stay, then I'll take you back to the loft and get you settled." Jim hooked an elbow around Blair's and took the ointment, putting the tube in his pocket as he led the way out of the hospital room. 

* * *

"Cozy," Jim commented, looking around at the furniture crammed together in a small area of the huge warehouse loft. "You could have spread out a little more, considering all this room. I almost expected a bowling alley or putting green the way you were talking." 

"I seem to remember saying you'd be surprised. I didn't say I actually _used_ it all." Blair busied himself gathering his clothes and boxing up some books and his laptop. He really didn't have all that much that he needed to bring with him. After all, with any luck, he'd be back here in a week. 

Jim picked up a handmade kachina doll and admired it, noticing a large number of artifacts scattered in the small living area. "I take it you've traveled a lot?" 

Blair looked up from his work and smiled. "Yeah. That's part of the perks of studying anthropology. I've been all over the world: Sri Lanka, Nairobi, Vanuatu, Australia... I think my favorite places, though, were Central and South America -- the Yucatan, Guatemala, Peru..." He shoved one of the filled boxes over toward Jim. "I like to collect mementos from my trips." 

Jim picked up the box and eyed the anthropologist. "You're not carrying anything that heavy," he said, indicating the second box at Blair's feet. "You take your clothes. I'll come back for the other box." 

"That's all right; I can handle it." Blair squatted down and slipped his hands under the box, but when he tried to lift, all he got for his effort was pain. " _Ahhhhhh_! Damn!" 

"Leave it, Sandburg!" Jim commanded. "I said I'd come back for it. I don't want you busting your stitches or hurting yourself." 

Blair nodded and gathered up the pile of his clothes, following Jim out to the truck. He slipped into the passenger seat and waited for Jim to return with the rest of his belongings. 

"That takes care of that," Jim said, dusting his hands on his pants as he climbed into the truck. "If you remember anything else you need, tell me, okay? I don't want you doing any heavy lifting." 

"Got it." Blair felt suddenly tired, even though it was only early afternoon. He rested his head against the door's window and closed his eyes. A short while later, he awoke to a gentle shaking of his shoulder. 

"We're home," said Jim softly. 

Blair looked around the parking lot and up at the building that housed some shops on its ground floor. He followed Jim out of the truck, taking his clothes as Jim grabbed a box and led the way through the door into the lobby. 

"I live on the third floor," explained Jim, standing in front of the old elevator. Usually, he simply bounded up the stairs, using the two flights as a form of exercise. But today was different. Today he had an injured roommate who wouldn't be able to climb those stairs for at least another couple of weeks. 

When they arrived on the third floor, Jim led the way down to the end of the hall, setting the box down in front of Number 307 and digging the keys out of his pocket. "This is it," he said, opening the door and pushing the box in with his foot. 

Blair wandered in and looked around, amazed. "Wow. This is beautiful! You must have a housekeeper that comes in to tidy up every week." 

"Nope, just yours truly," Jim replied. "I don't have many hobbies, other than going to the gym, so after work I clean house." 

"You don't go out? Maybe jog or something?" Blair asked, shuffling further into the loft and admiring the sparse beauty. 

Jim shrugged. "I like to camp and fish when the weather's nice," he admitted. "But most of the time, I spend my spare time right here. This way..." He indicated the direction with an extended arm as he led Blair toward the spare room behind the staircase. "This will be your room." He pulled back a curtain to reveal a small area populated by a twin bed, desk, and nightstand. There was a closet at one end and shelves along one wall. Jim indicated the fire escape door. "That's our emergency exit, but I generally keep it locked," he said. "You don't have to worry about anyone getting in that way. 

Blair nodded. "Okay. Thanks. This looks great." He started toward the closet to hang up his things. 

"Why don't you put that down for a minute and come with me?" suggested Jim, holding the curtain back as he waited for Blair. "Sorry about the drape. I never bothered to get a door, as I mostly use this room for storage." 

"That's okay," said Blair. "It's good enough to give me a little privacy. That's all I need." 

"Right across the hall is the bathroom." Jim pushed the door open to show his guest. Pulling the tube of medicated ointment from his pocket, he placed it on top of the toilet tank. "That way you won't forget to use it," he said with quirky grin. "And this is the kitchen." He began opening and closing cupboards and drawers. "Plates, glasses, silverware, the pots and pans... Over here is the gas stovetop and oven. The dishwasher..." He pointed in the direction of the appliance. "And we have a disposal in the sink, so use it wisely. Feel free to help yourself to anything if you get hungry." 

"I need to repay you for this somehow," said Blair, nearly breathless from the whirlwind tour so far. "I don't want to be a mooch." 

"A bag of groceries, when you can afford it, and help with my senses is good enough for me," Jim replied. "Don't worry about it. This is the great room. We've got a fireplace, and the balcony overlooks the bay." 

"Nice." Blair admired the austere beauty of the room, so different from the dump in which he'd been so recently living. "What's upstairs?" 

"That's my bedroom," answered Jim. "It's right above yours." 

Blair snorted with laughter. "Then I'd better be careful to be quiet at night." 

Jim nodded and patted Blair's shoulder. "Why don't you go back and start unpacking while I fetch the other box?" 

"Sounds good to me," said Blair. "Thanks again, for everything. I really appreciate it." 

Jim left and returned a short while later carrying the last box. He set it on the bed and began to put books on the shelves, followed by a few of the artifacts he had secretly tucked in amongst the anthropology tomes. Blair's eyes widened as a kachina went up on one shelf and an intact pottery bowl on another. When Jim set a picture on the desk, Blair finally found his voice. 

"Where did those come from? I mean, why? I'm only going to be here a few days." 

"I thought it might make this cubby hole feel a little more like home," Jim replied. "If you wake up in the middle of the night wondering where you are, there'll be something familiar here for you." 

"Thanks, man. That means a lot," Blair said sincerely. He sat down on the bed, bouncing lightly on the mattress. 

"Comfortable enough for you?" 

"It's great." Blair grinned up at his new roommate. 

"I'll leave you alone," said Jim, backing toward the curtained doorway. "I suspect you'd like to relax a little, get settled in." 

Blair nodded. "Yeah, that would be nice, thanks. And Jim...?" 

"Yeah, Chief?" 

"Let me know if there's anything I can do for you?" 

Jim smiled and nodded, then pointed an index finger at Blair's chest. "You. Rest. See you later." 

As it turned out, Blair slept through dinner, exhausted from his afternoon of moving and settling in. Jim wrapped the leftovers and put them in the refrigerator, then left a note on the kitchen counter so that Blair would know there was something to heat up if he got hungry in the middle of the night. Unexpectedly tired himself, Jim decided to turn in early. Tomorrow was Monday, and he had to go back to work. 

* * *

The next morning, Jim awoke to the smells of fresh coffee, bacon, and eggs wafting up to his bedroom. Stretching, he turned to look through the railing at the kitchen, surprised to find Blair making himself at home as he busied himself at the kitchen island stirring the scrambled eggs. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he padded down the stairs wearing only his boxers and robe. 

"What do you think you're up to?" Jim asked, walking into the kitchen. 

Blair looked up from his work and grinned. "Making breakfast; what does it look like?" 

"You didn't have to do this," Jim admonished. "You're supposed to be resting." 

"It's not stressful on my ribs or my ass to stand here and fix bacon and eggs," Blair argued. "You have to go into work today. It's the least I could do." 

"Anything I can do to help?" Jim asked, noting that the table had already been set. 

"Pour the OJ and put the toast on the table," instructed Blair, as he carried the frying pan to the table and ladled out a large helping of eggs onto Jim's plate. 

The two men settled down to eat, with Jim pleasantly surprised at how tasty everything was. "What did you do to these eggs?" 

Blair looked up from his meal, puzzled. "Are they okay?" 

"They're great! What did you do?" asked Jim, shoveling in another bite. 

"Just tossed in some stuff from your herb collection," said Blair. "And just the tiniest touch of cayenne." 

" _That's_ what's burning my tongue!" Jim exclaimed, following his statement with a swallow of orange juice. 

"Too much?" asked Blair, concerned that he'd overdone the spices for his sentinel's senses. 

"No, no..." Jim assured him. "It's good; just took me a little by surprise is all." 

Blair breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I wasn't even thinking about your senses when I added the pepper." 

"Don't worry about it, it's fine," said Jim. "So, you have a therapy session this morning?" Blair nodded. "Have a way to get there?" 

"I'm going to take a cab," Blair replied. "And afterward, I'll have the cab drop me off at The Blue Feather." 

"What the hell are you going to do there?" Jim was immediately sorry for his sharp tone when he saw the hurt look pass over Blair's face. "Sorry, kid. I just don't like the idea of you going back there where... it... happened." 

"Me neither, but I have a check to pick up for my night's work, and my Volvo is parked in the lot out back," Blair explained. "Once I have my car, I'll be able to get around on my own a little better." 

"Need money for the cab?" 

Blair shook his head. "I had some stashed away at the apartment. I'll be okay until I get my paycheck from the Feather." 

"You be careful, you hear? That's a rough neighborhood." 

"I know," said Blair. "So was the one where I was living." 

Jim finished his meal and got up. He walked into the living area and snatched his cell phone from an end table, bringing it over to where Blair still sat. "Here, you take this. If you need anything, the station's number is one on the speed dial." 

"But won't you be needing it?" Blair took the offering, but his eyes never left Jim's face. 

Jim shrugged. "I can get a loaner from the office. Simon, my boss, is used to me losing things. He'll understand." 

"I wouldn't want you to get into trouble." 

"I'll explain the situation. Simon's all right; he'll understand." Jim took his dishes to the sink and rinsed them before loading them into the dishwasher and turning to head for the bathroom to get ready for work. "You take it easy today. There're leftovers from last night's dinner in the fridge that you can reheat for lunch." 

"I noticed. Thanks, Jim." Blair picked up his own plate and headed into the kitchen. "Don't worry about me, I'm a big boy. I learned how to take care of myself a long time ago." 

Jim came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later and headed upstairs to get dressed. Blair took the opportunity to use the bathroom himself. The tube of ointment stared at him mockingly as he brushed his teeth. He really didn't want to deal with putting anything up his ass that didn't belong there; the psychological wounds were still too fresh. It was bad enough he had a therapy session this morning. He didn't think he could deal with that _and_ the ointment. Besides, he didn't feel so bad, and he could fill the prescription for the stool softener and pain meds on his way home from the Feather later in the morning. He was just starting to shave when Jim came back downstairs. 

"I'm leaving now. Call if you need anything." 

"Bye, Jim! See you later," Blair shouted over the noise of the electric shaver. At the sound of the door closing behind the detective, Blair let out a sigh and his shoulders slumped. It was going to be another long day. 

* * *

"So, Blair, how was the weekend?" Marcia asked as Blair settled in on the therapist's sofa. 

Blair shrugged. "Not so bad. Dr. Clark just released me from the hospital yesterday, and Jim helped me get some of my things so that I could move in with him until I'm completely healed." 

"Jim... that's the detective who's working on your case?" 

"He solved it, actually," said Blair. "They caught the guy and he confessed." 

"That must make you feel a lot better." 

"I suppose." Blair looked up at the therapist with haunted eyes. 

Marcia gazed back with warm concern. "What's the matter, Blair? Something's still bothering you." 

"I have to stop at the Feather after our session," Blair confessed. "I need to go in and pick up my tips and wages for the night." 

"And you're a little worried about going back?" 

Blair nodded. "I'm just not sure what to expect. The employee entrance is out back, in the alley..." 

"Where you were assaulted," Marcia concluded, nodding. "It's not going to be an easy thing to face so soon. You haven't even fully recovered from the attack." 

"But I need the money. It's all I have, and I need to pay my rent so that I'll have a place to go back to when Jim kicks me out." 

"Would Jim 'kick' you out?" puzzled Marcia. "He doesn't sound like the type to do something like that." 

Blair shrugged. "I just mean that I'm only there temporarily. I wouldn't want to intrude on him longer than necessary. He's pretty patient putting up with me for a week." 

"There must be something about you that he likes, or he wouldn't have offered," Marcia pointed out. "I think a lot of your insecurities stem from your childhood. You traveled around a lot, your mother left you with relatives and friends so that she could run off to retreats.... You've got a real issue with abandonment. And you have feelings for Detective Ellison. Together, that makes a volatile combination." She stood up and came around her desk, settling into a comfortable chair next to the couch. Folding her hands and resting them on her knees, she leaned forward. "But we're skirting the real issue here, aren't we? You _know_ what we need to discuss, Blair." 

"I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it yet." Blair's head was bowed and he stared at his hands. 

Marcia reached out, pressing a reassuring hand on Blair's knee. "You're not going to be able to deal with the issues surrounding Detective Ellison until you come to terms with what happened in the alley that night. Let's start with something easy," she suggested. "What was the man's name?" 

"Robert DeForo," Blair whispered. 

"Mmm," Marcia nodded. "Had you met DeForo previously, or was this your first... encounter... with the man?" 

Blair took a deep breath. "You're familiar with The Blue Feather?" 

"The strip lounge down on Clarmar. I've heard of it, yes. You were a waiter there." 

"Have you been there? Do you know what they make the waiters do?" Blair asked, his face flushing. 

Marcia shook her head. "I've never been there, but I've heard about its reputation for scantily clad staff and a good time for the customers." 

"That's a polite way to put it," Blair spat. "Both the men and the women wear only a Lycra G-string and a formal collar and cuffs. We're all but naked out there. The poor girls come back with bruised breasts, and I had to ice my cock down a half dozen times that night! If I even got the slightest twinge of arousal, my penis was exposed for anyone to gawk at. With the way I was getting pawed that night, it's a wonder I didn't have an orgasm." 

"Was DeForo there?" 

"He was the worst of the lot. He kept calling me over, touching me; putting his hand down inside my costume to feel me up. It was demeaning, not to mention uncomfortable!" The volume of Blair's voice had risen some with his anger. "He even offered me money for sex. Me! I must have told him a half dozen times that I wasn't a whore -- none of us were. We're just waiters." 

"Did you talk to your supervisor about it?" 

"Fat lot of good that would do," Blair growled. "We're _supposed_ to let the customers touch us and feel us up. That's why the place has such a reputation for good tips. And I really needed the money." Blair sighed. "Funny," he said, his voice softening. "I met Jim that night, too." 

"He was at The Blue Feather?" Marcia's voice was soft and coaxing. 

Blair nodded. "At the bar. Every time I'd bring up an order, we'd talk. He only touched me once -- on the shoulder..." 

It was Marcia's turn to nod. "Did you want more?" 

"Yes... no... hell, I don't know!" Blair felt his anger rising again. "He wasn't interested in me then, what makes you think he'd want to touch me now?" 

"Sometimes men don't get physical right away with the people who really matter," Marcia explained. "Perhaps he _was_ interested, but wanted to get to know you better first. He _did_ invite you to stay with him while you recover. I would, however, caution you about entering into a relationship this soon. If you're attracted to Detective Ellison, you might do well to examine _why_ you're feeling that way." 

Blair shrugged. "Yeah, whatever." 

"Blair, that's not an acceptable answer here. I need you to tell me what you're feeling." Marcia spoke softly, but her voice was firm. 

"I-I don't know _what_ I feel," Blair admitted. "I feel a connection with Jim, something indefinable..." He shook his head in defeat. 

"That's all right," said Marcia. "You don't have to figure it all out right now. Tell me more about that night. What do you remember about leaving the club?" 

"It was late, around two in the morning," Blair began slowly. "After I dressed, I headed out to the parking lot around the back of the club. I guess DeForo must have followed me out. He grabbed me and I fought with him. He hit me hard, knocked me to the ground and began to take off my jeans. When I struggled, he pounded my head against the pavement. Then he... he... God, you know! He raped me, okay? He violated my body and it hurt, goddammit! It hurt!" Blair was nearly in tears now, breaking down as he finally gave in to his memories. 

Marcia wrapped an arm around Blair's shaking shoulders, soothing the upset young man. "There... that's good, Blair, very good. I know that was hard, but you're strong; you told me and you survived." 

"There's more," Blair said with a sniffle, looking up at his therapist with reddened eyes. 

"All right," Marcia said, nodding. "Tell me. I'm listening." 

"He kicked my ribs and bashed my head against the pavement again when he was done. I guess he didn't want me talking." Blair stopped to wipe away the tears with the back of his hand. "I-I died. He killed me." 

Marcia was shaking her head. "No, Blair. He couldn't have, that's impossible. Here you are! You're quite alive." 

"But I wasn't then. I was dead," Blair insisted. 

"You were probably unconscious," the therapist reasoned. 

Blair shook his head. "No. I was clinically dead. They told me; the paramedics told me. I was dead for at least fifteen minutes." 

"Blair, honey, you _couldn't_ have been. Brain death begins to set in after four or five minutes without oxygen," Marcia argued. 

Grabbing a tissue from the box on the table, Blair blew his nose, then took a fresh tissue to dab at his eyes. "That's just it -- it _did_ happen, and I'm here because of Jim." 

"Because of Jim? How?" Marcia had backed away, sitting up straight in her chair and watching Blair with an incredulous gaze. 

"It's the sort of thing you might not understand -- or believe -- if you're not grounded in anthropology and the mythology of shamanism," Blair explained. "Many tribes believe we all have spirit guides that watch over us and help us. These guides come in the guise of animals and can usually only be seen on the spirit plane," he continued, his hands becoming more animated as he spoke. "I was there, on the spirit plane, in the form of a wolf. It was like I was waiting for my guide to lead me to the next plane of existence. I needed help to move on. But I wasn't ready to go. And then a large, black cat appeared -- a jaguar or panther. It was charging at me, and I ran to meet it. We collided in mid-air in a brilliant flash of light, and then I woke up to see the paramedics." 

"And Jim?" 

"He was the panther," said Blair. "I don't know how I knew it, but I was certain. Later, in the hospital, Jim confirmed that he had the same vision, but from the cat's point of view." 

"That's all a bit spiritual for me," Marcia admitted. "But if it's a vision that comforts you, then I can see no problem with you holding onto it." 

"You don't believe me." 

Marcia shook her head. "It's not a case of what I believe, it's what _you_ believe," she said. 

"I only know what I know," replied Blair. "Jim and I are bound together in our souls. He is my healing." 

"Hold that thought," Marcia said, rising from her chair. "I think that's as good a place as any to end this session. Be thinking about your feelings -- about the rape, about Jim -- and come prepared to talk again on Thursday, all right?" 

Blair rose and shook the therapist's hand. "Thanks, Marcia. It's good of you not to judge. I'll see you on Thursday." 

Blair made his way out of the hospital and waited for the cab he'd ordered for ten o'clock. When it arrived, he climbed in the back seat. 

"Where to?" the cabbie asked. 

"251 East Clarmar; it's The Blue Feather," Blair instructed. He tried not to fidget during the short ride. When they arrived, he asked the cab to pull around back. Paying the cabbie, he got out and stood staring at the back door. This wasn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped. 

Taking a deep breath, Blair opened the door and walked into the darkened club. He made his way past the empty dressing rooms to the back of the hallway where the manager's office was located. Kyle Macey, the club's owner, looked up as he entered. 

"Blair, baby! Thank God you're all right!" Kyle got up and came around his desk to embrace his employee. "When the police came snooping around asking about you, I got really worried." 

"Sure you did, Kyle," Blair deadpanned. "Look, I'm not all right and I'm not coming back to work. I just want to get my pay and tips for Wednesday night, that's all." 

"Got it right here." Kyle dug in a desk drawer and pulled out a check, but didn't offer it to Blair. "Are you sure you don't want to come back? The money is very good and you were a great waiter. I got a lot of requests for you the rest of the week. The customers wondered what happened." 

"I got attacked and raped by one of those customers." Blair's voice was cold and hard. "I'm not coming back." He leaned over and snatched the check from Kyle's hand. "Thanks for nothing. Good-bye." Blair turned his back abruptly and walked out, not caring to hear the owner's excuses or sympathy. 

Climbing into the Volvo, Blair started the engine. It coughed and died, but started properly on the second try. After driving to the bank to deposit his check, Blair stopped at the pharmacy to fill his prescriptions. It had already been a long morning. Returning to the loft, Blair collapsed on the couch and picked up the remote. 

* * *

Jim was exhausted. He'd wrapped another case, but had had to stay late to finish up the paperwork that Simon demanded get done before he could leave for the evening. Stopping at Chu's Chinese Palace on the way home, he picked up some take-out for dinner, hoping his new companion liked dim sum. When he arrived home, he found Blair curled up on the couch, watching TV. 

"How did the therapy session go today?" Jim asked, unloading the little white boxes from the larger sack and setting them on the table. 

"It went," replied Blair, his voice flat. 

"Are you okay?" Jim walked over to where Blair sat on the couch and held out one of the white boxes and a pair of chopsticks. "Want some noodles?" 

The smell of food finally made it through Blair's fog of pain and he nodded. "Yeah, thanks." 

Jim reached out to give his new friend a hand up off the couch and together they walked over to the dinner table. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Blair looked up sharply, and then stabbed his chopsticks into one of the take-out containers. "Talking is about all I've done today. If you don't mind, I'd rather not." 

Jim shrugged. "That's up to you. I'm just here if you need me." 

"How was _your_ day?" Blair countered. 

"The usual." Jim sighed and took another bite of barbecue pork. "Closed a case, and then had to stay late to finish the paperwork. Sorry I didn't get home earlier." 

"That's okay," said Blair. "You brought dinner, so you're forgiven." 

Jim snorted with laughter and went back to eating. When they had finished, Blair pushed his chair back and stood, heading for the bathroom. "I think I'll head to bed a little early, if you don't mind." 

"It's not all that early," said Jim, checking his watch. It was just after 9:30. Had he really worked that late? Simon owed him some comp time and Jim vowed to sleep in the next morning. 

Blair brushed his teeth and downed one of the stool softening pills, then glanced at the unopened tube of medicinal ointment. Shivering, he turned out the light and went into his room. Stripping down to his T-shirt and boxers, he climbed into bed and pulled the blankets up over his head. 

* * *

Banshee-like screaming woke Jim abruptly. He glanced at the clock to see that it was after three in the morning. Throwing back the blankets, he hurried downstairs and into the bedroom occupied by the terrified anthropologist. Kneeling next to the bed, he reached out to still the thrashing. 

"Blair? Blair, wake up," Jim coaxed softly, trying not to startle the younger man. 

"No! No! Get your hands off me, you creep! I won't let you touch me! Get away!" 

Jim raised his voice, trying to break through the bad dream. "Blair, it's just me, Jim. Come on, buddy, wake up; you're having a nightmare." 

Blair swatted at Jim a couple more times and then quieted. Opening his eyes, he tried to focus in the dark. "Jim?" 

"Yep, just me, Chief. You were having a nightmare." 

"Oh, God..." Blair wiped a hand down his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up." 

"That's all right," Jim assured the young man. "That's part of the reason you're here, so that you don't have to wake up alone. Were you dreaming about the attack?" 

"Pretty obvious, huh?" Blair sat up and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Marcia got me talking about it today during our session. I guess it just got the memories stirred up." 

"It hasn't even been a week yet," Jim reminded him. "This isn't something you're ever going to get over, but time will help put things into perspective." 

Blair drew in a shuddering breath. "Yeah, I suppose so." 

"Think you can go back to sleep?" 

"W-Would you stay with me tonight?" Blair asked tentatively, his eyes clouded with uncertainty. "I think I'd sleep better if I knew you were really close by." 

Jim looked at the narrow bed and shook his head. "It'd be awfully crowded," he said. "I doubt either one of us would get a good night's sleep." 

Blair sighed. "That's okay. Forget I asked. I'll be fine." 

"Of course you will," said Jim, standing and pulling Blair to his feet. "Because you're coming upstairs to sleep with me." He kept talking over Blair's mumbled protests as he led the way to the stairs. "I've got a king-sized bed up here; more than enough room for us both." They reached the top of the stairs and Jim nodded toward the bed. 

"You take the far side, and I'll sleep nearer the stairs. The bed is wide enough that there's no reason we need to touch, or for you to feel uncomfortable about sharing. All we're going to do is sleep, right?" 

Blair nodded. "Right." He walked around the bed and pulled back the covers, gingerly sliding in. "Ouch. Damn." The curse was soft, but didn't slip past Jim's enhanced hearing. 

"What's hurting tonight?" 

"My ass," Blair admitted. "It's been really sore lately." 

"That's not surprising. Want me to get you one of your pain pills?" 

Blair nodded. "That'd be nice. I put them in the medicine chest in the bathroom. Sorry to be so much trouble." 

"Will you shut up about that?" Jim said with mock irritation. "I'm going to go get your meds so that we can get some sleep." He headed for the stairs before Blair could protest a second time. 

In the bathroom, Jim noted the untouched tube of ointment on the back of the toilet. Shaking his head in consternation, he picked it up along with the bottle of pain pills. Filling a glass with water, he headed back up to his bedroom. 

"It's no wonder your ass hurts," Jim pointed out, coming around the bed to hand Blair his pills. "You haven't been using the ointment. How come?" 

"It hurts my ribs to stretch enough to apply it," Blair answered. 

Jim pursed his lips and nodded. "Uh-huh. And how did you come by this information, considering you haven't even _tried_ yet?" 

Blair gazed at his host with deer-in-the-headlights eyes. "I-I..." 

"Yes?" 

"I... well, I --" 

"It's all right to be scared, you know. You were violated and now you're being asked to repeat the procedure on yourself. But if you don't, you'll take a lot longer to heal. You want those stitches to dissolve properly, don't you?" Blair nodded silently. "You want your ass to stop hurting so that you can begin to put this all behind you?" 

"Yes, but --" 

"No 'buts'," Jim said firmly. "If you can't do this yourself, then I guess I'll have to do it for you." 

"Jim! No!" Blair's eyes became perfectly round and his mane of curls bounced as he shook his head. 

"Look, Blair, it needs to be done. We can go slow, but we have to do it." Jim unscrewed the cap on the tube and sat on the edge of the bed. "Now, pull your shorts down and turn on your side with your back toward me." 

"Do we have to? Tonight?" Blair pleaded. 

"I'm afraid so, kid; and tomorrow morning, too." Jim was sympathetic but firm. This needed doing, whether or not his reluctant patient liked the idea. "I'm shocked you didn't start just as soon as we got home. It's been almost two days now." 

Blair shimmied his boxers down to his knees and faced away from Jim, resigned that they were going to go through with this. "I know. I just _couldn't_." 

Jim squeezed a generous portion of ointment onto his index finger and rested a warm palm against Blair's right butt cheek. "This is going to be a little cool, at first," he warned as he gently began to probe Blair's anus with the tip of his finger. Blair gasped and jerked at the touch. "It's okay," Jim soothed. "You have to lie still. This doesn't have to hurt. Done right, it should feel really good." 

Blair snorted his disbelief and tried to hold still. The cool ointment touched his ass a second time, and this time the finger breached his hole, slipping inside. With his sharp intake of breath, the movement of the invading finger stopped but did not withdraw. 

"Just relax," Jim said softly. "You can do this." 

The finger slipped deeper, and Blair could feel it moving inside him, coating the walls of his rectum with the soothing gel. He sighed and began to relax as the relentless ache was massaged away. Without warning, a spark of pure arousal shot to his cock making him gasp and moan as the organ hardened beneath him. 

"Liked that, did you?" Jim said with a grin that Blair couldn't see with his back turned. 

Blair's response was quick. "What the hell was that?" 

"Nothing much. I just found your prostate. Figured that you might as well get a little pleasure out of the deal for being such a good sport about it." Jim eased his finger out and patted Blair's rear. "You can pull up your shorts now." 

Blair pulled up his boxers and slowly shifted himself to his other side, grimacing as his ribs protested the movement. "Thanks, man. That felt good." 

"Want me to help you with it again in the morning?" suggested Jim. "I'd be happy to, if your ribs bother you too much to reach." His eyes sparkled with mirth as he tossed back Blair's excuse. 

"Yeah." Blair nodded, a smile slowly growing across his face. "I think I'd like that." 

"Okay," said Jim, standing and moving back around to his side of the bed. "That's settled. Now, do you think we could get a little sleep? I still have to go in to work later this morning." 

"Sor..." 

"Don't say it, Sandburg. Just get some sleep, okay?" Jim pulled up the blankets and rolled onto his right side, facing Blair. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep almost instantly. 

* * *

Later that morning as he began to wake, Jim found he couldn't move. He slowly opened his eyes to find that Blair had rolled over in his sleep and plastered himself against Jim's body. An arm was flung across Jim's chest and Blair's head was tucked firmly underneath his chin. The warm musk scent of the young man, coupled by his nearness, made Jim's morning boner ache all the more. Blair had allowed him to perform a very intimate act of caring last night, but it would be a long time before he was able to reciprocate Jim's feelings in a physical way. In the meantime, he didn't want to scare Blair away by greeting him with a hard cock pressed against his thigh. 

Blair stirred, shifting but not moving away. As he did, Jim discovered that he wasn't the only one sporting a hard-on that morning. He wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders and cradled him until he was fully awake. 

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Jim teased. "Sleep well last night?" 

Blair took in their intimate sleeping arrangement, pulling back slightly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to crowd you." 

"Quite all right," Jim conceded. "Would you like to lie here and wake up a bit while I go downstairs and get breakfast started?" 

Blair squinted at the alarm clock, his eyes widening. "Don't you have to go to work?" 

"I stayed late last night, so I told Simon I wouldn't be in until later this morning," Jim explained. "There's plenty of time for a good breakfast first." 

"Okay." Blair watched as Jim climbed out of bed and donned his robe, heading down the stairs. When Jim was out of sight, he reached into his boxers and grabbed his throbbing erection, rubbing the ache and the longing away. 

Downstairs, Jim could hear the quiet grunts of pleasure and smell the results of Blair's masturbation. He understood the feeling. His own cock still ached with desire, but it was too soon to broach the subject. Blair still had too many demons in his closet to even suggest that there was more to their fragile relationship than simply friendship. 

Jim called Blair down to breakfast a half hour later. Rumpled and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the anthropologist slowly made his way down the stairs. The two men ate in relative silence, each pondering his dreams from the night before. When they were finished, Jim allowed Blair to use the bathroom first, while he cleaned up the kitchen mess. 

When both men were finally ready to get dressed, Jim nodded toward the stairs. "Ointment?" 

Blair's eyes lit up, but his nod was solemn. "Just let me grab some stuff to wear. I can get dressed upstairs after we're done." 

* * *

Blair slipped his boxers off and climbed onto the bed, tipping forward as much as his ribs would allow, not only to give Jim easier access, but also to hide his rebellious cock. He took a deep breath to relax, but found himself tensing as the cool ointment touched his anus. 

"Try not to think about it," Jim suggested softly. "Imagine you're off on one of those exotic expeditions of yours." 

Blair relaxed again, but his mind wasn't on exotic places, it was firmly on the man who was carefully massaging his ass. A groan escaped as he felt his cock swell, pressing into the mattress. He was barely aware of Jim pulling his fingers out or of rolling over to get off the bed. Jim's soft words startled him. 

"Need some help with that?" 

Blair's penis was dark with blood, full and leaking as it stood proudly against his belly. "Uh..." 

Fingers wrapped around the aching shaft and gently moved up and down its length, the slick residue of the ointment smoothing the way. Blair braced his arms behind him, not even noticing the pull on his sore ribs, and let his head fall back. The groan that escaped his throat was implicit permission to continue. 

Jim's fist tightened slightly and the rhythm picked up, creating a delicious friction that made Blair's entire body tingle with need. A thumb brushed across his glans and Blair nearly jumped at the sensation that coursed through him. His arousal was building... building to an explosive climax that he knew he wouldn't be able to control. 

"Stop." The word was a strangled plea. "Please." The motion on his cock ceased, but the fingers refused to release their hold. 

"I'll stop, if that's what you really want," whispered Jim. "Is that what you _really_ want?" 

//What I really want is _you_ , naked in bed with me; holding me, loving me.// Blair squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. The delicious sensation of the hand gliding along his length resumed and Blair shuddered with renewed arousal. Just when he thought he wouldn't be able to control his climax a moment longer, soft lips brushed Blair's and a tongue extended to tentatively taste him. 

With a cry that was swallowed by Jim's kiss, a fountain of come erupted between them, splattering both men with the essence of Blair's completion. Jim refused to cut the kiss short, pulling Blair against his body and gently cradling the broken ribs. When he was satisfied, he pulled back and smiled. 

"I think we need a shower," said Jim. "How about I'll wash your back if you'll wash mine?" 

"Oh, yeah," Blair sighed. "I think I'm going to need you to hold me up. My knees are feeling kind of weak." 

Jim chuckled and took Blair's hand. "I think that can be arranged, Darwin." 

* * *

The shower water was warm and soothing. Jim carefully soaped the bruised flesh of his new lover, cringing slightly as he saw the full extent of the damage for the first time. "Oh, God, you must be in constant pain." 

"It's not so bad... now," said Blair, smiling up at Jim. "You know, we're going to have to talk about what happened up there." 

Jim nodded. "But not just now. I have to get in to work. Would you like to come down to the station and meet everyone? I'm sure that Rafe and Taggert, especially, would like to see you." 

"Sure. I didn't have anything else going today. Anything is better than sitting here and ruminating." 

" _Ruminating_?" Jim couldn't contain the huff of laughter that erupted. "You 'ruminate' a lot, do you?" 

"Only when there's a lot to think about... like now," Blair explained, refusing to dignify Jim's teasing. "Before, all I had was the rape. Now I have this..." he indicated their naked bodies still standing under the cooling shower of water, "...too." 

"Just say the word, and I'll back off," was Jim's quiet reply. 

Blair shook his head. "No way. Now that it's out in the open, I'm not letting you go that easily." 

"We'll take this, whatever it is, at your pace -- all right?" Jim turned off the water and grabbed a towel to wrap around Blair's shivering body. Blair nodded. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" Taking a deep breath, Jim froze, waiting for Blair to continue. 

"I don't know when, or even _if_ , I can ever..." 

Jim pressed a finger against the full lips, shushing Blair gently. "Don't worry about it. We haven't even begun to explore what we can do without penetration yet," he explained. "We're not even sure what the dynamics of this relationship are. Let's not rush things." 

"Okay." 

"Are you still coming in with me this morning?" 

Blair nodded. "If you want me." 

A chuckle erupted from deep within Jim's chest. "Oh, brother, don't get me started on that subject! We'll never make it into the station that way." 

Blair joined in the mirth. It felt good and natural to laugh, and to love. Maybe life would get back on a normal track after all. 

* * *

They exited the elevator and walked across the hall to Major Crime. Blair cautiously followed Jim inside, unsure of what to expect. He'd never been in a police bullpen before. A pretty redheaded woman looked up and smiled. Her Aussie accent was musical. 

"Well, Jimbo, who is that you have with you? He's cute!" 

"Hands off, Megan," Jim growled, bantering playfully with the inspector. "This is Blair. Blair," he turned to his companion, "this is Megan Connor, an inspector on loan from our counterparts in Australia." 

"Nice to meet you, Blair! We've been hearing a lot about you." Megan's voice had dropped and she gave Blair a conspiratorial wink. 

The flustered anthropologist wasn't quite sure what to make of the comment. Fortunately, Rafe came to the rescue. "Don't worry, Blair. Jim's been careful about what he says. Most everyone here is familiar with your case -- you made the news, after all -- but Jim hasn't told them anything _personal_." Blair visibly relaxed with the reassurance. 

"Thanks, Detective Rafe. It's good to see you again. I don't think I ever thanked you for staying with me while Jim was gone," said Blair, shaking the detective's hand. "If I'd woken up alone, not knowing where Jim had gone or why, I probably would have had a panic attack." 

"We back each other up here," Rafe said modestly. "I owed Jim a few favors, and as favors go, this one was easy." He grinned at the younger man, reaching out to gently slap his shoulder. 

"I don't think you actually got to meet Joel Taggert," said Jim, presenting Blair to a large, black detective who looked more like a teddy bear than an agent of the law. "He was with me in the interrogation room when we broke DeForo." 

" _Very_ nice to meet _you_ , Detective Taggert!" Blair stuck out his hand, which Taggert dwarfed in his much larger one. 

"Call me Joel, please," he said. "How are you doing?" 

"Things are getting better," answered Blair, looking back and up at Jim, and giving the detective a little grin. "There's still a way to go." 

"Considering they picked you up as road kill just a week ago, you're looking pretty good." 

Jim turned at the sound of the new voice and frowned. "Real subtle, Brown. Blair, this is Henri Brown, Rafe's partner. He needs to learn a little finesse in the conversational arts." 

"This from a man who barely knows how to hold a conversation!" Brown returned with a big, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. 

"Ellison, in my office, now!" 

"That's Simon Banks, my boss," Jim explained, leading Blair the rest of the way across the room and ushering him into the inner sanctum of Simon's private office. "Simon, this is Blair Sandburg." 

"Did you get him a visitor's pass?" Simon shot back, looking Blair over with a sharp eye. 

"Haven't had a chance to yet, sir," Jim answered. "I wanted to stop by here first and let you know that we're here." 

"Fine, but get him that pass if he's going to stay." 

"Sure thing, Simon. Is that all?" Jim had a hand in the small of Blair's back, ready to guide him back out of the office. 

"Actually, no," said Simon. "I just got some news this morning that you both should hear. Care to sit down? Coffee?" He turned toward the pot of coffee on the bookcase behind his desk. 

"No, thanks," both men said in unison as they settled in chairs across the desk from Simon. 

Simon settled back and took a sip of the strong brew. "Special Kona blend," he said appreciatively. "Anyway, down to business." Folding his hands and leaning across the desk, Simon's eyes narrowed. "There's been an 'incident' in the prison." 

"What sort of incident, sir?" Jim asked, already shivering as a premonition of the answer wafted through him like a ghost. 

"He's dead, isn't he?" asked Blair, echoing Jim's thoughts. "Something happened to DeForo." 

Simon nodded. "He wasn't in with the hard-core cons yet, as he was still in minimum security until the trial," he explained, "but apparently someone took exception to something he said or did. Anyway, he was gutted with a shiv. He died in the infirmary earlier this morning." 

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," grunted Jim. He turned to look at Blair, who had gone pale at the news. "Blair, are you all right?" 

"Nobody deserves to die like that," Blair whispered, his throat tight with emotion. 

Jim was shocked. "What do you mean? That man raped and killed _you_ ; he just got what was coming to him. I say good riddance!" 

"No, Jim. Please don't think like that," Blair pleaded. "No one deserves to die like that -- alone. I should know..." He took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly, his eyes hardening. "Besides, I wanted to see him rot in prison, maybe get raped like he did to me. He didn't get what he deserved. He got off _easy_." 

The hatred that had flared in Blair's eyes shocked Jim to silence. Simon was finally the one to break the stillness. "That's all. Jim, why don't you take the rest of the day off? It looks to me like Sandburg might be in need of some company, and with the way he's feeling right now, he shouldn't be _here_." 

Jim nodded. "Okay. Thanks, sir. I think I'll do that. Come on, Blair." He stood and helped Blair up, and then the two of them left Simon's office. 

No one in the bullpen interrupted the pair of taciturn men as they made their way across the room and out the door. 

* * *

Jim drove down Bay Drive to the beach. Parking, he helped Blair out and led the way down to the sand. 

"I like to come here when I need to think," said Jim. "It's quiet, peaceful; just the sound of the water and gulls, with the traffic in the distance behind it all. It helps me to unwind." 

They walked quietly for a while until, finally, Blair spoke up. "Sorry about my outburst in Captain Banks' office. The news shocked me; I didn't quite know how to take it." 

"That's all right," Jim assured his friend. "It came as a shock to me, too." 

"A part of me is relieved," Blair confessed. "I don't have to worry about him anymore. He can't win his trial, or get out on bail; he can't escape from prison and come after me." He sighed, toeing the sand with his shoe. "But there's a part of me that regrets the loss of any human life. Everyone has _some_ redeeming quality." 

"Not everyone, Chief." Jim wrapped an arm around Blair's waist as they walked. "When you work in law enforcement as long as I have, you run across quite a few people without a single thing to redeem them." 

"Maybe you just don't know where to look." Blair glanced up at Jim, and then out at the choppy, cold water of the bay. After a long time of silence, he finally whispered, "I forgive him." 

"How...?" Jim's surprised response was halted by a finger pressed against his lips, which was soon replaced by a pliant, hungry mouth. 

When the kiss broke after a blissful eternity, Blair took Jim's hand and turned him back toward the truck. "Let's go home." 

* * *

That night they lay naked in bed, each admiring the other. Blair reached out a tentative hand, allowing the tips of his fingers to brush against Jim's penis. He watched as the quiescent organ jumped and then quieted again. 

"I've never touched another man's cock before," Blair admitted shyly. Getting a little bolder, he stroked the length, lingering over the roundness of the glans before letting his hand drop. 

Jim smiled. "That felt good; don't stop now." 

"I-I don't know what to do," said Blair, drawing back a bit. 

Reaching up, Jim let his fingers trail down Blair's cheek before he leaned in to kiss the younger man. "What feels good to you?" 

"I liked it when you wrapped your fingers around my cock and stroked it." Blair blushed at the admission. 

"Then do that," Jim suggested. 

"But I was erect... you're not." 

A soft chuckle escaped Jim's lips. "If you stroke me like that, I won't be soft for long." 

Tentatively, Blair reached out a second time and curled his fingers around the limp shaft and stroked. As his hand moved, he could feel the organ hardening under his fingers, lengthening and filling until it had nearly tripled in size. 

"You're magnificent!" Blair released his hold and allowed his fingers to trace the bulging veins and arteries. His fingertips probed gently at the small hole at the tip, making Jim quiver. 

Finally, unable to take the teasing any longer, Jim pushed Blair onto his back and lightly brushed a hand across the young man's nipples, making them stand at attention as Blair gasped. Leaning down, Jim took a tiny nub lightly between his teeth, teasing it gently before licking and suckling. 

"Oh, God... Jim! What...?" Blair's question was interrupted by another gasp of pleasure when Jim's fingers twisted and pinched at the other nipple. Tracing a wet trail down Blair's chest, following the arrow of hair to his navel, Jim dipped his tongue in, tasting the salty tang of perspiration. Blair bucked beneath him, and then groaned when his ribs protested the movement. 

A warm mouth engulfed Blair's cock, sucking the organ to an aching state of arousal. Blair groaned and shifted, the tension in his muscles from the gentle onslaught making his ass and ribs throb with pain. None of that mattered now, however. He reached out to brush his fingers through Jim's hair; touching him, holding him in place as Jim teased and licked the hardening shaft. "Yes, Jim... ohhhh... yes!" 

Jim could sense the impending orgasm as Blair's body tensed and quivered. Giving the cock one last appreciative lick, he slid up the pliant body to Blair's mouth, capturing the parted lips. As the kiss deepened, he pulled Blair against him, rubbing their cocks together in a slow rhythm. Blair moaned into Jim's mouth, matching the movements of his lover's hips until the increasing friction brought him to the point of climax. With a smothered cry, Blair's orgasm washed through him, spraying both of their chests with creamy come. Jim followed soon after, and both men collapsed in a sweaty pile. 

Blair found himself waking from the fog of his afterglow to soft kisses against his eyelids, nose, and lips. A soft voice whispered, "Was it as good for you?" Blair nodded. //Oh, God... yes. If it never goes beyond this, I could still be satisfied.// But the brooding thought still remained -- //But will I ever be able to offer myself fully to this man? Is that gift still in me, or has it been stolen, never to be returned?// 

* * *

"I saw the news last night," Marcia commented. "Your attacker was killed by another inmate. How does that make you feel?" 

Blair shook his head. "Mixed emotions," he admitted. "I'm not really sure how to sort them out. I'm relieved, of course, on the one hand. This man who hurt me can never get out to hurt me again. That possibility has been eliminated. On the other hand, he got off easy. Now he won't have to pay the full punishment for the crimes committed against me." 

"And that angers you." Marcia eyed her patient, certain of his emotions. 

"Well, yeah, sure it does," said Blair. "But there isn't anything that can be done about it now, so I'm going to have to let it go. Besides, like I said, he's no longer a threat, and that's a relief." 

Marcia nodded. "But you still have some unresolved issues regarding intimacy, especially since the rape. How are things going with Jim?" 

Blair cleared his throat and blushed slightly. "Pretty well, actually. We've started having sex." 

The therapist's eyebrows rose up into her bangs. "Is that so? Hmmm... Penetrative?" 

"Oh no, not yet," said Blair, shaking his head. "I don't know when I'll be ready for that, if ever. But what we have is... nice." 

"I'm glad to hear it," Marcia said. "Have the words been spoken yet? Have you _told_ Jim how you feel? Has he told you?" 

"Words aren't always necessary," Blair countered defensively. "I can tell by the way he treats me that he cares." 

"And how do you know this isn't emotional rebound sex?" asked Marcia. "Perhaps you're out to prove that you're not 'damaged goods'." 

"No, no it's not like that at all!" protested Blair. "It's... I don't know. There's something between us, something I can't define. I think it happened the day he brought me back to life. A connection was formed. It's like we're one soul in two bodies." 

"Please don't get me wrong, Blair. I'm very pleased that you're finding some happiness and that you're exploring your sexual limits, but I want to make sure you understand how this might be connected to your attack." Marcia smiled warmly at her patient. "Let's cut this short today. I think what you need to work on over the weekend is voicing your feelings to Jim. If you can't say the words, you need to think about _why_." 

Blair swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "All right. I'll try." 

"That's all I can ask." 

* * *

The weekend was nearly over, and Jim and Blair were lazing in bed, their sated bodies draped over one another in tangled abandon. When the phone rang, Jim felt for the receiver, knocking the phone on the floor before retrieving the instrument. "Hello? Um, yeah, just a minute." Jim covered the mouthpiece and turned to nudge Blair. "It's for you." 

Blair lifted his head, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Forgot to tell you, I had my calls forwarded to your phone. Good thing I don't get very many." He took the handset and mumbled into it. "Hello? Blair Sandburg speaking." 

Jim's eyes widened in alarm as Blair shot up to his knees on the bed. "Shit! Look, Mark, you have to give me a little more time! I haven't been able to work... I'll get you the money somehow." In his agitation, Blair bounced on the mattress, sending his limp cock swinging. "Please! Just give me a few more days? I know I can pay you." He listened a bit longer, his body sinking back down until he was sitting quietly. "Yeah, okay. I understand. Thanks, Mark." 

"What was that all about?" Jim asked, trying to pull Blair back down beside him. 

"I lost the lease on the warehouse," Blair replied glumly. "I have to have my stuff moved out by Wednesday." His voice rose in volume and he waved the phone's receiver in the air. "How am I supposed to do that? It's Sunday evening already, and I can't do all the work myself. Dr. Clark hasn't even cleared me yet. I can't ask you to take time off work." 

"What happens to your stuff if you don't get it moved by Wednesday?" Jim reached up to pluck the phone from Blair's hand, returning it to its base. 

"It becomes the property of the warehouse's owners, and they can do whatever they damn well please with it!" Blair explained. 

"Tell you what," said Jim. "It's not all that late. Why don't we get dressed and make a trip over there. We'll pack what you really need and leave the rest." 

"I'm going to need my furniture..." 

"Not if you're living here," Jim pointed out softly. 

Blair turned startled eyes on his roommate. "Permanently? Or until I can find myself somewhere else to live?" 

"Permanently, if that's what you want," said Jim. "I love you, Blair. I want you to stay here -- with me. Would you do that?" 

"Jim, are you sure? Do you know what you're saying here?" Blair's eyes clouded with doubt. "I love you, too. More than I ever thought I'd be able to love anyone, but I don't know if I'll be able to give you what you deserve." 

"You already have," Jim replied. "You've opened yourself up to me, let me in to those personal places in your heart. That's what counts. The personal places in your body are just icing on the cake. If we never go all the way, I'll still be satisfied." Sitting up, Jim slipped off the bed and offered a hand to Blair. "Enough of that; we need to get cleaned up and go pack your belongings. Do we need extra boxes?" 

Blair climbed off the bed and followed Jim down to the shower. "Nah, I've got a warehouse full of them," he replied. "But where are we going to put everything?" 

"Just how much stuff do you _have_ that we have to keep?" Jim asked. "I've got room around the loft for a lot of your knick-knacks, there are shelves in your room for more books... The rest, if it isn't a dump truck load, can go in my storage area in the basement." 

"I don't think it'll be too much then," Blair replied. "Thanks, Jim." 

The detective reached out to ruffle his lover's hair. "Don't mention it." 

* * *

So much had happened in two weeks, that Blair couldn't believe it was already time to return to Dr. Clark for his check-up. When he reflected on the whirlwind of events, he marveled. He had gone from violated victim to beloved partner, from homeless to sheltered, from broken to -- well, almost -- healed. His attacker was dead and buried, and thanks to Marcia Hellner, Blair was finally coming to grips with that fact. He'd lost his trust in strangers, but gained a love that seemed to know no boundaries. 

As he lay on his belly on the bed, his legs spread, Blair sighed with contentment. The lubed tease at his hole made him smile. "Grease me up good there, Jim. No telling what Dr. Clark is going to want to stick up my ass to check on my progress." 

"Would you like for me to go in with you?" Jim asked. "I'm there if you need me." 

"I'll be all right," Blair assured his partner. "I have to spend time in therapy first, anyway." 

"Aren't you about ready to drop that psycho-babble mumbo-jumbo?" Jim's finger breached the tight muscle and slid inside, coating the walls of Blair's rectum with the healing ointment. 

"Ahhh... Jim...!" Blair sighed, closing his eyes. After a few moments of enjoying the feel of Jim's finger inside him, he found his voice. "We still find things to talk about. I didn't realize just how screwed up I was. It started way before DeForo came along." 

"I find that hard to believe," said Jim. "Of course, I didn't know you before I met you at The Blue Feather." 

"Point made and tallied," Blair grunted. "All you've ever known is me as a victim of sexual assault. You've got nothing to compare to, so far as my 'normal' behavior is concerned." 

Jim snorted. "Normal? You?" He withdrew his finger and lightly slapped a bare butt cheek. "Get dressed, Junior. You've got places to go and people to see." 

* * *

Marcia Hellner turned off the tape recorder that she used to record her sessions with Blair. "You've come a long way in just two weeks," she commented. "I know we still have some issues to hash out, so how about we reduce your visits to one every other week for now, and taper off from there? If something comes up, we can always schedule an extra session." 

"Sounds good to me," Blair agreed. "I can't believe how much better I'm feeling already." 

"Are the nightmares all gone?" 

"Mostly. Some nights I still wake up, but I'm always there in Jim's arms," Blair explained. "It makes going back to sleep easy." 

"I'm really happy for you." Marcia came around her desk and walked toward the door to her office. "So, you have your follow-up appointment with Dr. Clark now?" Blair nodded. "Nervous?" 

"A little, but I think it's going to be all right." 

Marcia opened the door and held it for Blair who walked through and then turned back. "I _know_ it's going to be all right," Blair said with assurance. 

"Good luck." Marcia closed the door and smiled. She knew it was going to be all right, too. 

* * *

"You can get dressed now," Dr. Clark instructed. "Everything's coming along nicely. The stitches have all dissolved and the tears have healed." 

"Is it too soon..." Blair stumbled over his words, choking on some misdirected saliva and then trying again, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Is it too soon for anal sex?" 

Dr. Clark looked up from his note taking in surprise. He put down his pen and studied the young man sitting on the exam table. "Physically, you've healed," he said cautiously. "But I'd consider waiting a while longer, maybe another two weeks, before allowing penetrative sex. Your tissues are still quite delicate and need time to scar over." 

Blair nodded. "Okay. I'm not sure I'm ready yet, either, but I wanted to check." 

"Your ribs are going to take another four to six weeks to heal, and you may still feel a little stiff, even after that," Clark explained. "I'd take any kind of physical activity easy until you're pain free." 

"Walks on the beach...?" 

"Are very good," finished Clark, grinning at his patient. "But you're not quite up to jogging yet. The same applies to your sex life... understood?" 

"Yes, sir." Blair slipped off the exam table and pulled up his pants, fastening the buttons before tackling the harder job of getting into his shirt. Dr. Clark stood and took one sleeve, helping Blair ease back into his clothes. 

"Let me know if you experience any unusual pain or discomfort, or if you need refills on any of your prescriptions," Clark said. "Otherwise, you're free to go. I don't need to see you again unless there's a problem." 

"Thank you, Dr. Clark." Blair slipped into his shoes, and walked out of the hospital into his new life. 

_One Month Later:_

Blair finished setting up his contraption and motioned Jim over to the dining table. "Come on, Jim, don't be such a baby. Remember, you _asked_ me to help you with your senses. Do you want to learn to control them or not?" 

Grumbling, Jim stepped over to the table and settled into a chair in front of the jury-rigged device. 

Stepping up to make some adjustments to the equipment, Blair continued. "Now, remember, you were born with these enhanced senses. They're a gift inherited from your ancestors." 

"So, just what is it we're supposed to be doing here?" Jim asked, giving the device a skeptical once-over. 

Blair slipped a pair of headphones over Jim's ears. "It's something really cool, you're going to like it." 

"Somehow, I doubt that," Jim grumbled. 

"I made it myself," Blair continued. "It's supposed to help you isolate your senses. In this case, we're isolating your hearing from your sight. Now, put your chin here." He indicated a chin rest he had 'borrowed' from the optometrist's lab at Rainier. 

Reluctantly, Jim placed his chin on the device, giving Blair a suspicious look. "Now what? Hey!" He winced and turned away when Blair started up the machine, producing a kaleidoscope of blinding colored lights. 

"Just relax," Blair soothed. "I've purposely put your sense of sight on overload. Don't fight it. Instead, see if you can separate yourself from it and hear only the music. Concentrate on the music, Jim." 

"I don't like it," Jim complained, squinting into the lights but staying put through an effort of will. 

"If you're going to learn to control your whacked-out senses, you have to practice," Blair explained. "Remember, you asked me to help you." 

"Remind me not to ask you for any more favors," growled Jim. 

"I'm not the one suffering from too bright lights or too loud music," Blair said reasonably. "But if you don't want to do this, we can stop." 

"I didn't say that..." 

"All right, then, we're back in business," said Blair. He watched as Jim took a deep breath, concentrating on the lights and music. "That's it. Good, Jim. Take it one step at a time; zone out the light. Concentrate. You can do it. Yeah. Yeah, that's it. Zone out the light; there's only the music." 

Jim's eyes grew glassy as he stared past the twirling twin cylinders, concentrating on the soothing sound of classical music coming through the headphones. 

"Concentrate on the music, Jim, but don't lose yourself in the sound," Blair coaxed. "Yeah... you're doing it! All right!" He switched off the lights and watched as Jim backed away from the chin rest, removing the headphones and rubbing at his eyes. "That was great! You were able to ignore the distraction of the lights and home in on the music. You need to practice separating out your senses like that before we can really concentrate on combining them." 

"I've got a headache," Jim complained, continuing to rub at his eyes. 

Blair walked around the table to the kitchen. "I have just the thing for that; some willow bark tea." 

"Oh, please, not another one of your leaves and twigs brews," complained Jim good-naturedly. 

Blair just chuckled and put the teapot on the stove to boil water. "You'll thank me in the morning." 

* * *

The two naked bodies twined on the bed, arms and legs tangled in an intimate embrace. Jim's face was buried in a cloud of chestnut curls as he nibbled at an earlobe, then moved down to leave his mark on Blair's shoulder. His younger lover bucked beneath him, fully aroused and moaning softly. 

Jim slipped down the lean body, his thumbs teasing the hard nubs of Blair's nipples as his mouth sought out the leaking cock. Blair's head thrashed from side to side, his eyes tightly closed and his mouth opened wide in a silent cry of ecstasy. 

"Oh, God, Jim! _Ahhhhh_..." Blair raised his hips, thrusting into the warm cavern of Jim's mouth. 

Jim stilled the slender hips with gentle pressure as he positioned himself between Blair's spread legs. Bending down, he took his time licking the underside of the pulsing shaft; letting his tongue swirl around the circumference from root to tip before taking the glans between his lips and sucking the cock as he had his favorite "rocket pops" as a child. 

Blair's moans of protest grew louder and he fought harder against the hold Jim exerted to keep him pinned in place. His cock quivered and pulsed as his orgasm built with astonishing speed. As Jim leaned over to take in his shaft, Blair came with a shout, crying out his completion as he collapsed like a rag doll onto the mattress. 

Crawling up the length of the supine body, Jim peppered kisses on the glistening skin. 

"Jim... I want it... now." Blair's soft words were full of longing and hunger. "I need for you to claim me; body, as well as soul." 

Jim studied the earnest face, so filled with desire. He cupped a cheek with his palm, a thumb brushing across the wet, full lips. "Are you absolutely certain? Because, baby, we don't have to do this, not for me." 

"Then do it for _me_ ," said Blair, his voice coming in heavy pants of yearning mixed with fear. "I'm ready. I want this." 

Jim nodded and climbed over his lover, reaching for the battered tube of medicinal ointment they'd used for so long to induce Blair's healing. This was to be the final page in Blair's recovery, and Jim wanted to make sure it was a pleasant memory to replace the nightmare. 

Blair had rolled onto his side, and Jim began the painstaking task of lubing and stretching his lover's opening. One finger, then two, entered Blair's body as Jim's free hand stroked along Blair's arm and hip, soothing him. Moans of pleasure assured Jim that Blair still wanted this. 

Jim's cock throbbed with anticipation, his heart hammering as he positioned himself behind Blair and prepared to enter. 

As the hard cock probed his ass, Blair's body stiffened slightly. He forced himself to relax, to remind himself that this was Jim, his lover; the man he'd pledged his life to, and not the man who had so senselessly violated him. As he was slowly filled, Blair felt a sense of euphoria come over him. It was as though he was floating on a cloud of love; surrounded, encapsulated, protected, and cherished. Jim's arms came around him, cradling him against the strong chest, and Blair knew that this was right; that this was where he belonged. Forever. 

**THE END**

End Story Notes: In this story, Blair is raped and murdered with blunt-force trauma to the head, but he doesn't remain dead. In a scene similar to the recovery at the fountain in "Sentinel, Too," Jim connects with his young victim on the spirit plane, reviving him. The assault itself is not graphically described, but is recalled during therapy sessions and talks with Jim. 

* * *

End 

The Blue Feather by Natalie L: nat1228@comcast.net  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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